


From the Brink of Spring to the Edge of Winter

by Frayach



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, In Character, M/M, Mpreg, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 134,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frayach/pseuds/Frayach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As we know from the show, Brian promises Justin a week-long vacation in Vermont but instead ends up going to Chicago to win the Brown Athletics account and save his job.  Feeling hurt and betrayed, Justin goes snowboarding at Sugarbush Resort without his "boyfriend."  Fuck him!  But then Brian shows up in the middle of the night and their griping eventually leads to seriously hot make-up sex.  Unfortunately, Brian's condoms are not designed to accommodate an impressive cock like Justin's.  Breakage is all but inevitable.  What happens when it actually occurs?  (Considering the fact that the tags say "mpreg," I'm willing to guess that Brian gets pregnant.) </p><p>Also, can Brian snowboard without lessons??  What about give birth? Read and find out.</p><p>Believe it or not, despite being an mpreg fic, this story is not schmoopy (at all), and Brian and Justin are not OoC.  Go, me!</p><p> </p><p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Broken Condom

**Author's Note:**

> This is an mpreg fic, and Brian's the one who's knocked up. You've been alerted.
> 
> Will you all ever forgive me? And will I forgive you all if you can't? Will I even forgive myself?? The questions pile up like moguls on a double black-diamond trail. Proceed at your own risk. The author shall not be responsible for loss of equipment, injury, death, chagrin or canonical distress of any kind.

Fuck him.

The driving had become slow and treacherous after the sun went down. Justin had watched several cars perform clumsy pirouettes into ditches – most of them SUVs going too fast under the mistaken belief they were invincible to the snow and ice that hampered the mere mortals in their Honda Civics and Toyota Corollas. Justin was glad to be both a damn good driver and secure in a nice, sturdy Jeep.

And, yes, in case you’re wondering, the Jeep belonged to one Brian Kinney, Asshole Extraordinaire and Cruel Executioner of Dreams. Justin hoped he was having a dandy, ol’ time in Chicago kissing ass and fucking every guy within the city limits (and maybe even beyond).

Fuck him.

If Brian had thought Justin would merely stay home clutching his pearls, he was sorely mistaken. Justin had two weeklong ski passes to Sugarbush, prepaid equipment rentals and a slope-side, ski-in-ski-out condo (Brian said he’d rather let Mel sit on his face than stay at a B&B, gay-friendly or not). There was a private outdoor Jacuzzi and room service provided by skiing waiters who were no doubt hot as hell and eager for an orgy.

Fuck him.

Brian had revealed his priorities, none of which included Justin. Work trumped a promised vacation. He’d claimed he’d be fired if he didn’t procure some stupid account. Like that would actually happen; Brian was the firm’s top account winner. As though they’d fire him. What a load of shit. Why hadn’t he just man-upped and said he’d changed his mind and didn’t want to go? Instead he’d invented an excuse and, in the process, lied through his teeth – something Justin had always believed would never happen. At least that’s what Brian had assured him.

Fuck him.

Justin had had enough of this bullshit. He wasn’t a dog that always came back for another kick. He was better than that. Stronger than that. Brian was _not_ going to break him. If a baseball bat to the head hadn’t broken him, a shitty “boyfriend” didn’t stand a chance.

Justin looked down at his white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, not out of fear of the weather conditions but fury at Brian. This was the final fucking straw. The snow was blinding. He put on his hazards and kept a gradual but continuous speed; if you stopped, it would be hell trying to find the traction to keep going again.

Fuck him.

Justin almost wished he’d end up rolled-over in a ditch, seriously injured and needing the assistance of the Jaws-of-Life to free him from the wreckage. Maybe _that_ would catch Brian’s attention and make him regret his decision to go to Chicago. Yeah, right. Like Brian would ever regret something. It was almost worth dying to see how he’d react. But that was stupid. If he was dead, he wouldn’t know what Brian did or didn’t do. Justin chided himself for even momentarily entertaining the thought. This was what this sick “relationship” had driven him to!

Fuck him.

It took an eternity, but he finally arrived at the Sugarbush Resort. It was enormous. Every tree surrounding the main lodge was wrapped in tiny white lights and people milled around, their boots squeaking in the new snow. Justin drove to the main entrance and handed the keys to a valet. Have I mentioned he had Brian’s credit card number? After he checked in, a handsome employee, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, carried Justin’s bags to the gondola. They rode together, and the guy filled him in on the latest conditions and which trails were open. Justin was pleased to hear that almost the entire mountain had enough snow cover for a good, dependable base. The forecast was brilliant sun during the day and snow every night. Nothing could be more ideal. Brian was going to miss out on the perfect vacation.

Fuck him.

After disembarking from the gondola, Justin and the hot ski dude walked a short distance to a condo with a front porch whose railings were garlanded by the same white lights Justin had noticed on the trees. The guy unlocked the door and handed Justin the key. The lights were already on, and there was a bottle of expensive champagne chilling in an ice bucket on the kitchen counter. 

“Your rental equipment is in the boot room,” the delicious guy said, pointing down a short hallway. “If anything is unsatisfactory, contact the rental shop, and someone will come out as soon as possible with replacements.”

Justin merely nodded; he was still looking around the large living room with its peaked ceiling and huge windows overlooking a trail lit for night skiing. There was an enormous fireplace with a fire crackling amidst the fragrant pine logs it’d been built with. Deep brown leather couches soft enough to eat a whole human alive were positioned just right for a view of both the fire and the ski trails.

“The bedroom is upstairs in the loft,” the hottie said, “as well as a sitting room and master bathroom. There’s another smaller bathroom across from the door to the boot room. The bed was made this morning with fresh sheets, and there are towels and bathrobes in the upstairs closet. Please let us know if anything is not to your satisfaction.”

 _What is not to my satisfaction_ , Justin thought, _is the fact that I’m here all alone when I should be with my fucking asshole of a “boyfriend”_. He almost said it but stopped himself in the nick of time. 

“We were under the impression that there were going to be two of you,” the guy said. “Will he be arriving later tonight or tomorrow? We need to know to be sure someone is available to assist him.”

Justin gave him a twist of a rueful smile.

“I’m afraid it’s just me,” he said. “My ‘partner’ has made different plans.” He hoped that this information might encourage the ruddy-cheeked Romeo to stay and try out the cozy hot tub, but there was no hint of gayness emanating from his words and actions. Justin glanced at his ring finger. _Damn_ , he thought, _Not only was the dude straight, he was married too. So much for that_.

“Do you wish to have dinner delivered to you?”

Justin nodded.

“Great. There’s a menu on the counter. Everything is covered by your reservation and will be charged to the card in our system. The kitchen is open to eleven o’clock. Just dial the number on the menu. Preparation and delivery usually takes about forty-five minutes. Also, I forgot to mention that you can order groceries. Again, all costs will be charged to your card, including tips, so there’s no need to tip the staff delivering anything. Do you have any questions, sir?”

Justin shook his head. “Nope.”

“Well, if you need anything, just call the front desk.”

Justin gave him a wan smile and walked with him to the door. And then he was gone. The ache in the pit of Justin’s stomach worsened. Nothing he could order for dinner could erase the pointless desire for Brian’s presence.

Fuck him.

Even though he wasn’t in the mood to eat, Justin ordered the most expensive meal on the menu along with the most expensive bottle of wine. Brian better not be fired because he was going to need a hefty paycheck to stave off the financial ruin Justin intended to inflict on him. When the food was delivered, Justin offered the delivery girl the bottle of obscenely expense champagne. Brain had obviously bought it and arranged to have it delivered for their first night away from Pittsburgh.

Fuck him.

“As an employee, I shouldn’t accept this, sir,” the girl said with obvious regret. 

Justin smiled his first real smile in days. “Then come back after your shift,” he said. “I’ll leave it on the porch. It’s a gift, not a tip.”

The girl, damn her, rolled her lips to hide a smile. Justin noticed for the first time that she had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She could be Brian’s twin sister.

“Thank you,” she said and let her suppressed smile unfurl.

Justin couldn’t help giving her his sunshiny grin. “You’re welcome,” he said and then added, “Just promise me you’ll share it with someone you love – and who loves you back.”

Her smile turned sad, but she nodded anyway. “I hope you have a good stay,” she said and then skied back to the gondola. Before she got on, she gave him a little wave.

Goddamn it. Sometimes Justin wished he was straight. But then he imagined Brian’s beautiful cock and immediately dropped his train of thought. He couldn’t imagine not having that cock shoved up his ass and those full, heavy balls emptying in his mouth. The thought brought the long-resisted tears to his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He was _not_ going to cry over Brian.

Fuck him.

He ate almost nothing of his expensive dinner and turned off the light illuminating the back deck and its Jacuzzi. He took a shower and stood for a while dripping water while he stared at the bed. He was _not_ going to sleep on it; instead he curled up on one of the couches and watched the fire die – a suiting metaphor for his Brian-less circumstances.

 

The morning was bright – almost painfully so when he woke and looked out at the smooth, white slope. He hoped the equipment included anti-glare goggles. He ordered the most expensive breakfast and sat picking at it as he watched skiers pass by. It’d been a while since he’d snowboarded. In fact it’d been almost exactly two years. He, his parents, Molly and Daphne had gone to Mount Snow for a weekend to celebrate his seventeenth birthday. Justin swallowed a tight knot when he recalled how all five of them gathered around the fire in the main lodge, drinking hot chocolate and laughing at each other’s tales of icy bravery. That was before everything had been ruined. By Brian.

Fuck him.

 

The snowboarding was fantastic, and for a brief while, Justin almost forgot how unhappy he was. It was just a couple degrees short of spring conditions, and Justin was able to take off his down parka. The people he rode with in the gondola were all nice and chattier than northeasterns usually are (although, actually, most of them were from out of state). They were interested in the fact he went to art school and asked him a lot of questions. On one ride Justin was alone with a skier who was a leg-amputee, and he talked about his brain injury. In return, the guy told him about how he’d been injured in Afghanistan. Justin felt an unexpected jolt of arousal, but then, yet again, he saw the ring on his left hand. Was everyone at Sugarbush heterosexual? When they got off the lift, the guy invited Justin to take a run with him. Justin enthusiastically agreed – up until the moment he realized the guy intended to ski the scariest fucking trail on the whole mountain. They parted ways, and Justin watched in awe as the guy skied off. He was the most graceful skier Justin had ever seen, and he lambasted himself for being a pussy about something as trivial as a dysfunctional relationship. At least he still had all his limbs.

Fuck him.

After he’d tired himself out, Justin returned to the condo and soaked in the Jacuzzi (fuck Brian, he was determined to enjoy his vacation). By the time he was dried off and dressed, it was only six o’clock. What the fuck was he going to do with the rest of the evening? There was a T.V., but he’d be damned if he was going sit around watching reruns of fucking _Friends_ even though Ross was gay, and it was amusing to watch him pretending to be straight. It was even more amusing watching Will of _Will and Grace_ pretending to be gay. He sucked at it. Brian’s loathing of the show was as hot as a thousand fiery suns . . .

Fuck him.

Justin puttered around aimlessly until he decided to go down to the main lodge. He caught a downhill gondola. When he got out, he was suddenly surrounded by people, most of who looked like they’d started drinking around noon. Justin saw that he had a long way to go to catch up. He was pounding a shot of Tequila when he was joined by the veteran and his wife. The three of them proceeded to inhale several margaritas and a grotesquely large plate of cheese and chili nachos. Both of his companions were friendly and then fucking _hilarious_ after a couple of drinks. They laughed and talked like old friends until the bartender shut off the booze. The three of them staggered outside and proceeded to have a drunken snowball fight. Justin was having a great time, but then the couple dropped the news they were leaving the next day. God, it was humiliating when he felt tears fill his eyes! He’d told them about Brian and how Brian had stood him up. They both gave him huge bear hugs, and then they were gone. Justin went home to his Brian-less condo where he drank what was left of the expensive wine he’d bought the night before. Two a.m. found him sobbing and vomiting, which was neither fun nor dignified. As dawn crept in through the windows, Justin fell asleep on the bathroom floor with a folded towel as a pillow. Maybe he’d get his wish and die. _Then_ Brian would be sorry.

Fuck him.

Fortunately everything he’d drunk was sufficiently expensive (and his vomiting sufficiently effective) that Justin awoke with only a ghost of a hangover. He called the kitchen and ordered their breakfast special. This time he was hungry and devoured the whole thing. Then he called the front desk and ordered new sheets (even though he hadn’t slept in the bed) and new towels even though he didn’t need them. He also requested a house cleaner. The services were ridiculously expensive. Justin made sure they were charged to Brian’s card.

Fuck him.

The weather was flawless again, and the people he rode with in the gondola were all nice. He met another snowboarder, and they tried out some newly opened trails together. He would’ve kept going except the girl said she had to meet a friend at the summit lodge. 

His thigh muscles were burning, so he stopped earlier than he had the day before. After showering and dressing, he went back to the main lodge, but this time no one approached him to share a drink. Justin ended up drinking too much again and dining on nothing but Chex Party Mix. The good mood he’d felt on the slopes faded with every $18 shot of tequila. When the bar closed, he staggered to the gondola where he would’ve fallen asleep but for his fellow riders’ loud, bawdy behavior. It reminded him of Brian and the boys at Woody’s.

Fuck him.

When he returned to the condo, the fire that was lit for him every night was nothing but embers, so Justin added a few logs. He was starving. Luckily there were plenty of leftovers in the fridge. He sat on a barstool at the counter eating and listening to his iPod. The silence was too oppressive to endure. After he’d polished off the filet mignon and garlic mashed potatoes, he went upstairs with the intention of getting the duvet and bringing it down to the couch, when he changed his mind. The bed was so inviting. He hadn’t wanted to sleep in it because it screamed of Brian’s absence. So fucking what? Justin threw off all of the pillows except one and positioned it smack in the middle. He climbed in the bed and sprawled out as much as he could, legs and arms askew and spread wide. Even if Brian _was_ there, there’d be no room for him.

Fuck him.

Justin had exhausted himself with a day of challenging boarding and an evening of sulky, lonely drinking. The condo could collapse around him and he probably wouldn’t even know it. He was so deeply asleep that he drooled. He was the proverbial slumbering log when he was awakened groggily by a whispered word.

“Sunshine.”

Justin’s eyes flew open. He was dreaming. Brian was _not_ pulling aside the duvet and positioning himself between Justin’s legs. Brian was _not_ nuzzling Justin’s balls and inhaling his sleepy scent. Brian was _not_ licking Justin’s dick with long, broad sweeps of his tongue. Brian was _not_ swallowing said dick past his gag reflex. Brian was _not_ moaning around his mouthful. Brian was _not_ wetting his finger with his saliva and pressing the tip against Justin’s asshole – gently but steadily until it slid into the resisting opening. And Brian definitely was _not_ making Justin come with sharp, involuntary thrusts of his hips and curling toes.

“What are you doing here?” Justin asked, his voice hoarse from sex and sleep.

Brian didn’t answer until he’d jerked himself off, shouting obscenities like a sailor when he came. 

“Your lips are chapped,” Brian said, flagrantly ignoring Justin’s question. “Let me do something about that.” He swiped a finger through the pool of come he’d spurted on Justin’s chest and applied the warm, deep-ocean-scented substance to Justin’s lips. Justin licked it up, forcing Brian to apply more. Brian’s come tasted and smelled different than any of the tricks' Justin had blown. He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Roll over,” Brian whispered, and Justin complied. They hadn’t spoken a word about how and why Brian was there. It seemed like they should discuss it, but speech was impossible for both of them when Brian began sloppily fucking Justin’s asshole with his tongue. 

He placed his hands on Justin’s hips and pulled them back until Justin’s ass was sitting on his heels. Justin knew what he looked like, wide open and on unobscured display. He knew because Brian had let him rim him in the same position. Justin groaned at the memory and then started cresting when he remembered the anal beads (Brian’s favorite toy) buried all the way and then slowly withdrawn while Brian jerked off . . . oh _fuck_!

“Don’t come,” Brian said. “I want to fuck you.”

As he always did in such situations when Brian asked him not to climax yet, Justin thought of lesbians going down on each other. It was the vilest and most disturbing image he could conjure. It was even capable of wilting his hard-on.

Brian chuckled as he put on a condom. “Thinking about munchers again?”

Justin huffed out a laugh that transformed into a deep, guttural sound as Brian’s cock breached him and sheathed itself with delicious determination.

All thoughts of lesbians – and everything else – quickly fled Justin’s mind. All he was aware of was the living heat that filled him. He started rocking back when Brian thrust forward with increasing speed and force. When he grabbed Justin’s hips and used his grip to yank Justin’s whole body in counterpoint to his movements, Brian’s thrusts lost their rhythm. Justin started stroking himself. Brian wouldn’t come before he did, and it was clear that Brian wanted – or even _needed_ – to come. He was making _those_ sounds that always preceded his climax.

“Come,” Brian said, choking on the word.

Justin tightened his grip on his dick as his orgasm flooded his feet and flowed toward his groin, the sensation making his fingers tingle. The increasing desperation in Brian’s voice vibrated in the marrow of Justin’s bones and plucked at his sinews as though his body was an instrument and Brian was the musician. When Brian started trembling and making his familiar groaning-gurgling sound, Justin toppled off his cliff, soaring for a moment on wings of ecstasy, and then slammed into an unforgiving earth.

Brian sank his fingertips into the flesh of Justin’s hips. His thrusts grew savage enough to drive Justin’s face into his pillow. Justin had to turn his head to avoid suffocation. Brian’s trembling turned into full-body shaking as he resisted his inevitable fall to the point of, what it’s always seemed to Justin, pain. He squeezed Brian’s cock and was immediately rewarded for his efforts when Brian grunted, buried himself to the balls and froze there, drawing out his orgasm to its full tantric capacity (a skill he was teaching Justin) before collapsing onto Justin’s back as heavy and unwieldy as a sack of dry cement. They lay like that, panting, until Brian’s cock started to soften, and he pulled out with obvious reluctance. As much as Justin’s body craved the fullness, he didn’t want to go on a fishing exhibition for the condom.

Brian rose to his knees, and Justin rolled onto his side so he could witness Brian perform his rubber-removing ritual. It was so oddly sweet that Justin couldn’t resist watching. Brian pulled off his condom and admired the impressive volume of its contents, holding it up with a concentrating frown and scrutinizing it like a wine connoisseur might do with a glass of pinot noir. 

“Not bad for a second orgasm,” he said, obviously pleased with his body’s semen-producing ability. “You always make me come my brains out.”

Justin enjoyed the afterglow of, not only the sex, but Brian’s unexpected compliment while he watched Brian walk to the bathroom, his skin damp with sweat and his hair spiked and mussed to the point of indignity. After he heard the toilet flush, Justin got up to join him in the spacious shower.

Now was the time for talking, and talking was precisely what they needed to do, fuck Brian’s knee-jerk recalcitrance.

“Mmmm,” Brian purred as Justin began scrubbing his shoulders with a washcloth. “Feels good. Been driving for-fucking-ever.”

It was as good an opening as any.

“Why are you here?” Justin asked. “What happened to your trip to Chicago?”

“Done,” Brian replied. “Took less than forty-eight hours from getting on the plane to making Vance eat his own shit. You were just fucked by a full-blown partner at Pittsburgh’s most prestigious ad agency.”

He dropped his head forward as Justin started scrubbing his neck.

“You know,” Brian said after a minute or so. “You were a real, fucking prima donna. I _told_ you I’d be back as soon as I won that account. I _told_ you my fucking job was on the line. I was given a fucking week to prove to that arrogant son-of-a-bitch that I was worth keeping. I ended up doing it in forty-eight hours. It was just three fucking days from the time Vance told me my ass was on the line to the time I got back to Pittsburgh, but no, you had to pull a hissy fit and leave before I got back. No note, no nothing. I had to learn you’d left from the boys. That sucked, Justin. It let them in on more of my – more of _our_ – business than I’d ever wanted to. You fucked me over big time. You’re lucky I’m even here at all.”

Lucky?! Justin’s hand froze. _Bastard!_ “I’m lucky because you deigned to join me? Brian, there’s something called a fucking phone. Yes, you have to press a few buttons, but it’s not hard to figure out. If I’d known you were coming back, I would’ve waited.”

Brian turned around, his eyes flashing with anger. “What about ‘I’ll be back in a couple of days’ didn’t you understand? It shouldn’t be complicated for an honor student. Admit it. You didn’t believe me.”

He grabbed Justin’s shoulders and gave him a sharp, emphatic shake. Brian had never used physical force on him before. Justin angrily pried Brian’s hands off him and gripped his wrists, pinning them against the shower wall. Even though he had more than enough strength to escape, Brian didn’t struggle.

“Why should I believe you?” Justin spat. “Why should I believe someone who, for months, was pushing me away only to turn around and fuck me every chance he got before pushing me away again? Why should I trust someone who tricks under my fucking nose? Why should I believe someone who never once visited me when I was in the hospital? Why should I believe someone who dumped me without a second thought because my Goddamn mom asked him to? Why should I believe someone who gets me a fucking hustler – a _hustler_ – for my birthday? Why should I trust someone who can’t even be bothered to give me one, tiny, little, infinitesimal sliver of affection?”

Brian didn’t blink through the entirety of Justin’s tirade. His expression was stony, and a sneer tugged at his upper lip. His gaze had not softened one iota.

“I trick under you quote-unquote ‘fucking nose,’ because that’s what I do. I trick. A lot. Every day if I can. I have never told you I’d stop, and I never will. Deal with it or walk away. Same thing with me being an asshole. Yeah, I pushed you away, but it was _you_ who kept coming back, who kept wanting me to fuck you. Takes two to tango, Sunshine. As for not visiting you in the hospital, I . . .” Brian paused to take a deep breath “. . . I was there all day, every fucking day, until you were out of a coma, and then I was there every fucking night. I knew your progress in therapy better than your own fucking mother, speaking of whom, she told me that if I cared about you, I’d leave and never come back. I think you’re smart enough to figure out what it meant . . . what it means . . . that I complied with her wishes.”

Brian was breathing as though he’d just run a race, and his cheeks were flushed even brighter than they were after they’d fucked. He was on fire with anger . . .

. . . meanwhile Justin was in shock.

“You,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “You were at the hospital? Every night? When did you sleep?”

“I didn’t,” Brian replied.

“I was in the hospital . . .”

“. . . for a fucking long time . . .”

“. . . and every night you were there?”

“Does that equate to a ‘tiny, little, infinitesimal sliver of affection?’ Or do you need fucking roses and violin music?”

Justin winced and turned his face away. Did Brian know about his feelings for Ethan? But how could he?

“How am I supposed to know any of this unless you _tell_ me?” Justin demanded. He felt that it was a more than reasonable question.

Brian shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think I had to for you to know . . . to know how I . . . how I feel about you. Clearly, I was wrong.” He got out of the shower and started hastily drying himself with one of the resort’s super-plush towels. He was out the bathroom door before Justin could even figure out what was going on. Justin ran into the bedroom naked and dripping water all over the carpet. Brian was getting dressed with Olympian speed.

“Brian!” Justin shouted. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Brian snapped. “I’m leaving and taking _my_ fucking Jeep with me!”

“Now who’s the prima donna?”

The question made Brian stop getting dressed. He _hated_ being called a “prima donna.” It was tantamount to a thrown-down gauntlet.

“I am _not_ being a prima donna,” he said, rage simmering under his voice’s deliberate calm. “I’m simply going home. You can come with me or you can stay here without the use of my car _and_ my credit card, which, by the way, I can see you’re diligently trying to max-out.”

“I’d have to buy the whole fucking _resort_ to surpass your credit limit!” Justin yelled as he struggled to put on his clothes fast enough to grab Brian before he ran out the door. In the end, he only managed his underwear, one sock and a backwards, inside-out t-shirt. “You’re fucking _rich_ , Brian. Why the hell do you need to be even richer?”

The question was sufficiently annoying to cause Brian to pause as he was gathering his bags.

“Did I hear you correctly?” he asked. “Did you listen to one fucking word I said? I had a _week_ to prove I was worth not firing from the same fucking company that I helped put on the fucking map. I _told_ you that! Tell me so that I can understand: did you _want_ me to fail? Did you just not care? Or are you just too much of a fucking child to realize that money – and careers – don’t grow on fucking trees? Didn’t your parents ever tell you that or were you just not listening? My money pays for your fucking tuition, your fucking cell phone bills, your fucking _clothes_ . . . !”

“I never asked you to buy me clothes,” Justin snapped. “The clothes I had were just fine!”

“The clothes you had made me lose my will to live every time I looked at them!”

“That’s because you’re a label queen!”

“You looked like you were a homeless basketball fan who’d just climbed out of a dumpster!”

“You wanted to fuck me anyway!”

“Only after I got you out of your horrible clothes!”

“I’m an artist! Artists don’t wear Armani!”

“Artists also don’t wear shit from Old Navy and Nike Town! At least have the dignity to wear vintage, used clothing!”

“Old Navy is owned by The Gap!”

“And that should change my mind why?”

“Because The Gap has nice clothes!”

“ . . .”

“Gotcha!”

“You did _not_ ‘get me.’ I was merely stunned into silence. The Gap? _The Gap??_ Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you, you asshole! I fucking _love_ you!”

“. . .”

“And you love me too or you wouldn’t be in Vermont!”

“. . .”

“And you would’ve cancelled your credit card – I know you knew I was using it!”

“. . .”

“And you would’ve told the police your Jeep was stolen!”

“. . .”

“And you sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now arguing with me about clothes!”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for that ass of yours, not your stupid ‘you love me’ bullshit!”

“You could’ve had anyone’s ass!”

“No one has an ass like yours!”

“See! I told you that you love me!”

“Correction: I love your ass!”

“My ass is attached to the rest of me!”

“I try very hard to forget that fact!”

“But you can’t, can you?!”

“Sadly, not!”

“So you admit that I’m attached to my ass!”

“Only reluctantly!”

“Reluctant or not, the result is the same: you love my ass and my ass is attached to me. It follows from simple logic that you love me in my entirety, ass and all!”

“. . .”

“See! You’re speechless in the face of my Socratic reasoning!”

“No, I’m speechless in the face of your sheer, jaw-dropping inability to do anything that resembles math!”

“I got 750 on the math section of my SATs!”

“Obviously the person who did the grading was on crack!”

“The SATs are graded by machine, not a human!”

“Okay! Then the machine was on crack!”

“. . .”

“Or meth!”

“Machines cannot smoke; thus they can smoke neither crack nor meth!”

“You can inject meth!”

“Machines can’t inject stuff! They don't have veins! But back to my ass . . . !”

“. . . you can’t switch subjects like that; it’s disconcerting!”

“That’s because your brain can’t hold onto more than one thought at the time!”

“That’s only true when you’re sucking my cock like a starving backroom whore!”

“. . .”

“. . .”

Finally, a useful segue! Without pausing to second-guess his decision, Justin walked over to Brian, knelt down in front of him, opened his jeans, pulled them off his hips and watched with satisfaction as Brian’s cock gradually stiffened under his lustful gaze. Soon it was standing proudly straight out from his glossy, dark pubic hair, its head a deep crimson and its slit open with the tautness of the satiny skin. Without touching Brian in any other way, Justin inserted the tip of his tongue. It was difficult to maintain the shallow penetration as Brian’s cock twitched, but he bravely persisted. When he glanced up, he found Brian looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes and parted lips. He took a chance and sat back on his heels. Brian groaned at the loss of contact.

“What do you want?” Justin asked, his voice calm and steady. “What will prove to you that I’m sorry?”

Brian just looked at him with that sex-drenched gaze of his. It was a long time before he answered, an event that was only triggered by the swelling bead of pre-come that seeped from his slit, stretched in a milky thread, then broke after a moment and fell to the floor. Brian blinked as though wakened from a trance.

“What will prove to _you_ that I’m sorry?” His voice was scratchy with need.

They looked into each other’s eyes, each of them watching as the remaining hardness and anger evaporated like dew in the sun.

“Fuck me,” Brian all but whispered as he pushed down his jeans and kicked them off.

There was a sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, which still glowed with flickering embers. Justin had only fucked Brian once before. He watched Brian lie down and turn onto his front with an exhalation of sweet surrender. How had Justin forgotten what a big deal it was that Brian offered himself like that? Ethan had talked of rose petals and breakfast in bed. Anyone can buy roses and make scrambled eggs. Only Brian could give him something truly unique: himself. No one’s acquiescence was so hard won – and so sincerely given.

“I don’t need preparation,” Brian said, spreading his legs. “Just go to it.”

Justin was slightly disappointed; he loved everything about Brian’s asshole. It was adorably shy and exquisitely tight. Just the thought of Brian’s taste made Justin drool, and no sight was more arousing than his finger slowly disappearing into Brian’s slickly lubed channel.

“Fuck me,” Brian said, humping the rug and opening himself again and again leaving nothing to the imagination. “There are condoms in my wallet.”

Justin took off his inside-out t-shirt, his one sock and his underwear while he simultaneously fumbled in the back pocket of Brian’s rumpled jeans for his wallet. It was a feat worthy of admission to Cirque de Soleil. Finally he found a condom buried in a wad of cash and opened the packet. It was Brian’s favorite brand – slippery with lube and thin to the point of near-ineffectiveness. Justin put it on carefully, but his trembling hands made it difficult. The task wasn’t made any easier by Brian’s increasingly exaggerated movements and encouraging obscenities. At last Justin’s cock was sheathed. He held it steady and lined up the head against Brian’s tightly puckered opening. 

“Ready?” he asked.

“I was born ready, Sunshine,” Brian replied. It was the closest thing to a confession of love that he’d ever made.

Justin entered him slowly, savoring the resistance of the ring of muscle encircling Brian’s hole as it clenched his dick all the way to the root. Brian made a sound of satisfaction as his body welcomed Justin’s thick ten inches.

Justin let himself go. He’d been so angry – so hurt. He’d been ready to break up with the man beneath and surrounding him. What had he been _thinking_? What had he been thinking just leaving for Vermont without even checking to see if Brian could eventually join him? It’d made sense at the time but not now.

When he looked back on that night, Justin could pretty much pinpoint the instant the condom tore. It was Brian’s, which meant it was designed to accommodate an eight-inch cock (but only just barely; Brian tended to buy condoms a size too small because they left a few inches of his cock uncovered). Justin’s dick was two inches too long and one inch too thick. Standard-sized condoms just couldn’t do the job, especially when they were the absolute thinnest approved by the FDA. The fact that Brian was so tight and Justin let himself go like he never had before probably didn’t help.

Brian was incoherent. He clawed at the rug, struggling to get enough of a purchase on it to push back. Justin reached down to jerk him off, but Brian smacked his hand away.

“I’ll do that,” he growled. “You just concentrate on fucking me into this dead sheep.”

Justin laughed, but it manifested as a hitched groan. When the condom ripped he hadn’t felt anything different, so he didn’t stop although he later acknowledged that even if he _had_ felt it, he wouldn’t have stopped. He _couldn’t_. Maybe Brian with all his experience could’ve stopped, but Justin couldn’t – especially when the firelight was dancing on Brian’s sweat slicked skin while he emitted a continuous, all-but-inaudible keening sound. Justin had to distract himself to keep from coming too soon. He raised his eyes to the enormous windows overlooking the slope. Snow was falling in ridiculously big flakes, almost obscuring the headlights of the groomers as they crawled laboriously up the hill.

Brian. He was there, in the flesh as though Justin had been able to wish hard enough to defy the rules of physics and transport him from the loft to the very spot he was now, pinned beneath Justin’s thrusting hips. Justin wove his fingers into the hair at the nape of Brian’s neck and tugged hard enough to lift Brian’s head. He ignored the answering indignation, and started fucking Brian even deeper. When Brian rose to his knees and forearms in a clear indication that he was ready to come, Justin abandoned all hint of decorum. Was that why, when he withdrew, the condom was nothing more than a ring of latex clenching the base of his cock? Or had the condom gave up the ghost whole minutes before he let himself go?

When Brian came, he curled into a ball around his middle with an inarticulate cry. It almost caused Justin’s dick to slip free, but Justin altered the angle of his thrusts to permit continued full penetration. Now that Brian had come, he could follow in his wake. 

He almost pulled out. Not because he was aware the condom had torn, but because he wanted to come on Brian just as Brian had come on him earlier. But when push came to shove, he couldn’t leave the heaven of tight, convulsing muscle that surrounded his cock and massaged every raw, aching nerve in his whole body. . .

He froze with a silent cry, his fingers still clenching Brian’s hair, as he came. It went on forever – spurt after wrenching spurt, all of them unimpeded by the ravaged condom. Brian’s head was turned to the side. His eyes were closed, his face fever-flushed and his chin slick with spit. Justin bit his lip, unaware that he was bleeding until the aftershocks of his orgasm faded gradually into a vulnerable trembling.

They lay still for a long time. Justin’s cock didn’t start softening for several minutes. He probably could’ve kept going, but one look at Brian’s face told him not to. Brian looked exhausted, which wasn’t surprising considering he’d driven for twelve hours straight assuming there hadn’t been any traffic.

Justin slowly, carefully withdrew from Brian’s body, and that’s when he noticed it – the torn condom and the pearly-white semen that flowed out of Brian’s rectum in the wake of the retreat of Justin’s softening cock. It was obvious in an instant what had happened . . .

Justin froze, eyes wide, paralyzed by sheer terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: I researched Sugarbush's accommodations and discovered that the resort is only now building true slope-side, ski-on-ski-off condos. In other words, I took liberties when I portrayed Justin and Brian's lodgings in 2002 as such. I also invented the gondola and the outdoor Jacuzzi. Sue me.
> 
> As an aside: was Justin brain-dead when he suggested they vacation at Sugarbush? It's "Vermont's Most Family-Friendly Ski Resort" ten years running. It's true. Trust me. I've been there. It's breeder hell on earth. Even I, a dyed-in-the-wool heterosexual, was horrified and overwhelmed.


	2. The Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's time for the big reveal that most of you have probably already figured out. Brian is pregnant. God help us all.
> 
> For sanity's sake (mine and yours), I'm not going to try to invent biological details to explain the pregnancy. Trying to so often renders the whole weird situation even weirder. So I'll I'm going to say is he's pregnant. End of story. You'll need to be able to suspend the inherent disbelief that comes with mpreg.

“What’s up?”

“Justin?”

“What the fuck?”

Brian rolled over when Justin didn’t reply, but Justin couldn’t tear his gaze away from what little remained of the condom he’d been wearing. 

“The condom broke,” he said in the flat tone of shock. “The condom broke.”

Brian remained on his back looking up at him. “Okay,” he said calmly.

“Brian! Did you _hear_ me? The. Condom. Broke!”

“I heard you,” Brian replied. “The condom broke. It happens; there’s no reason to freak out.”

Justin opened and closed his mouth, but no words escaped. _No reason to freak out??_ Of course there was a fucking reason to freak the fuck out!

“What if I’m positive?” he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

Brian sat up. “Damn, I’m stuck to this sheep. Will you go get me a wet washcloth?”

 _A washcloth???_ They were going to die, and Brian wanted a fucking washcloth?

“Bri. . .an,” Justin said, the word cracking in half between its two syllables. “I’m dying of a heart attack right now.” He started to hyperventilate.

“Shit,” Brian said. He got up and went to the kitchen where he rummaged through the drawers. At last he returned with a paper lunch bag.

“Lie down,” he said evenly. “And breathe into this.” He handed Justin the paper bag. “Slow deep breaths. In, out, in out.”

Justin was surprised by how serene Brian seemed about everything, but then he remembered that Lindsay suffered from panic attacks. Brian had probably been present during a few . . . maybe even more than a few given Lindsay’s vibrating intensity whenever she was in Brian’s vicinity.

“Better?” Brian asked after a few minutes. Justin nodded, his mouth still covered by the bag. “Listen,” he continued. “Condoms break.”

“You’ve had condoms break?” Justin said in a little voice.

“A couple of times,” Brian replied. “The guys and I got tested. Everyone was negative. The odds favor negative results. Look, when was your last test?”

“Three weeks ago,” Justin answered without hesitation. He religiously got tested every month.

“And you were negative?”

Justin nodded.

“Have you been fucked – as in penetration – by anyone but me since then?”

Justin shook his head.

“Okay, then the chance that you’ve infected me is pretty fucking small. I just got a negative result last week. Since then I’ve fucked only four guys other than you.”

 _Only_ four guys. Jesus. Brian was such a slut. 

“Do the math. About 1.2 million people in the U.S., including non-homosexuals have HIV, and there are more than three _billion_ people in the entire population. There are only four guys in the mix, and one of them – Brown’s personal assistant – told me he hadn’t been fucked in a year . . .”

“You fucked your client’s personal assistant??”

“How else would I be able to crash Brown’s lunch at his swanky, private club? Anyway, my point is that you and I are clean. Stop stressing. Believe me, if I thought there was a reason for stress, I’d let you know. I may fuck around, but I don’t fuck around when it comes to The Virus. Now chill out, and let’s go take another shower. You just shot one of your impressive loads in my ass. I don’t want to be leaking your come all over the place.”

Brian’s calm disinterest helped to lessen Justin’s terror, but he was still uneasy. He supposed he’d remain so until they both got tested again and learned their results. Fuck. He was _never_ going to let something like that happen again.

Brian stood up and pulled Justin to his feet. “Come on, shake it off,” he said. “Let’s take a shower, eat something and go to bed. I’m sticky, hungry and tired as hell.” He kissed Justin in a way that was intended to comfort, not arouse. Justin melted against Brian’s chest, and Brian put his arms around him. For the moment, Justin forgot anything was wrong. When they went to bed, he fell asleep quickly and slept soundly with Brian wheezing softly beside him.

 

The next morning, however, was a very _very_ different story.

Justin awoke to the sound of Brian pacing in the living room and muttering to himself. Shit! Had his serenity evaporated with the rising of the sun? Justin put on a robe and went downstairs.

“Hey,” he said, hoping his voice sounded nonchalant. “What’s wrong? Do you feel okay?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Brian snapped. He’d stopped muttering – probably out of embarrassment – but he was still pacing.

“Alright,” Justin said. “Did Cynthia call with bad news?”

“No.”

“Are you worried about the HIV thing?”

“No.”

“Are you hungry? We can order anything off the menu.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need coffee and you don’t like the kind they provided us with.”

“No. The coffee was marginally acceptable.”

“Okay,” Justin said with exasperation. “What’s your problem?”

Brian didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at Justin.

And then it hit him. Brian was flipping out over the prospect of snowboarding! He bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“You know,” he said cautiously. “You can take a class.”

Brian wheeled around and fixed him with a withering glare. “I do _not_ take lessons. In anything. Never have, never will.”

Justin bit his lip harder. “Alright, then I’ll teach you.”

Brian collapsed in defeat on one of the squashy couches. “I don’t want to go,” he said petulantly.

“You’re being a baby.”

“I don’t care.”

“C’mon! That’s the whole reason we’re here!”

Brian crossed his arms and sank almost to the point of invisibility into the couch’s beguiling maw.

“Just try it,” Justin wheedled. “Maybe you’ll be a natural. After all, you’re a natural at everything else.”

Brian tried to pretend he wasn’t preening over Justin’s compliment. “I think I could relax if we fuck first . . . and then eat breakfast. Or the other way around. I’m not fussy.”

Justin cocked an eyebrow. Brian not fussy? It was like saying Emmett isn’t light in the loafers.

Brian ignored him. “Where’s that menu?” he asked. “We’ll fuck after we order. Ah, here it is. What do you want? Isn’t Vermont famous for its maple syrup? Let’s get a giant stack of pancakes . . .”

“. . . and bacon.”

“Of course. How ‘bout hash browns?”

“Cubed or shredded?”

“How the fuck should I know.”

“Ask them when you call. I hate the cubes. They’re too potato-y.”

“Anything else? Shall I order you a cow so you can milk it for your coffee?”

“Cows are gross. I had to milk one once when my sixth grade class visited an Amish farm. Their milk-squirting things are all warm and rubbery.” Justin shuddered at the memory.

“Teats. They’re called teats. So that’s where your hand job skills came from? God bless your teacher. You could’ve gone to a swamp instead. My sixth grade class went to a swamp. It stunk . . . and there were frogs.”

“Frogs? Who doesn’t like frogs?”

“Me. I hate them. They’re slimy. I don’t like slimy things, hence my aversion to pussy.”

“Ah, I see. So if you hadn’t gone on that fieldtrip to the swamp, you might’ve grown into a heterosexual?”

Brian laughed. “Where’s the fucking phone? I’m hungry and horny.”

"I’ll call in the order,” Justin replied. “Go find a creative place to fuck and I’ll join you in a minute.”

The “creative place” turned out to be the patio in the back. Justin leaned against the railing while Brian fucked him standing up. They positioned themselves so that no key bits were on display, although Justin was pretty sure that Brian’s loud grunts gave them away, and if not that, then Justin’s expression of ecstasy was an unambiguous clue. The skiers passing them didn’t stop for a rest or pause to take in the cloudless view of the Green Mountains.

Brian was a master at the stand-up fuck. He bent his knees slightly to achieve full penetration and thrust upward with carefully calculated force as he held onto Justin’s hips with bruising strength. Brian might not be an athlete in the ordinary sense, but he was an unbeatable champion at finding Justin’s prostate and having his wicked way with it.

“That feel good?” he growled. “Want more?” He reached around and started pumping Justin’s cock in a controlled rhythm designed to provide the maximum amount of pleasure without triggering an orgasm.

“Fuucckk,” Justin groaned. “Brian . . .”

“Jesus, your dick is huge. Clearly you were first in line when God was handing out cocks. Don’t you feel guilty for taking more than your fair share?”

Brian was talking – Justin could hear his voice somewhere in the distant background – but he had no clue what Brian was saying. He figured if it was important, Brian would repeat it after they’d come. Regardless, right at that moment, Justin didn’t give a flying fuck if Brian was revealing the secret of the universe.

Brian finally lost his control when they were spotted by a group of frat boys who couldn’t not stare at them despite their obvious chagrin.

‘Want some?” Brian shouted. “Get in line, boys!”

“Faggots!” one of them yelled back. Brian must’ve flipped him the bird because the guy flipped one right back.

“Stick around for another couple seconds,” Brian shouted, “and you’ll hear what a _real_ orgasm sounds like, you dickless twats!”

And with that, he twisted his hand around the head of Justin’s cock as though he was twisting a cap off a bottle. Justin came hard and noisily, not giving a shit who heard or what they thought. Brian followed right behind, grunting and swearing. When his climax receded, he pulled out of Justin’s body and leisurely went through the whole rubber-removing ritual, making sure that when he held it up to measure the amount of come, the frat boys saw exactly what he was doing.

“A cup!” Brian said loudly. “Not bad for the fourth fuck of the day!”

Justin laughed when the guys, clearly vexed, skied off . . . and badly at that.

“You are incorrigible,” he said. He turned in Brian’s arms and gave him a kiss.

“Of course, I am,” Brian replied. “Where the fuck is our breakfast? Shameless exhibitionism and taunting breeders makes me hungry.” 

 

Brian’s levity lasted until it was time for him to strap his boots to his board. Justin had been amused to discover that Brian, at some unknown point in time, had bought himself the most expensive ski pants, jacket and googles available. KJUS. His hat alone was cashmere and worth at least $200.

“C’mon,” he said. “You’re the hottest man at this whole resort. You’re dressed like you should be skiing the Alps. Even if you fall down, you’ll fall down beautifully.”

Brian looked neither amused nor placated.

“Remain me again,” he said. “Why aren’t we in the Caribbean?”

“Because we’re in Vermont,” Justin replied. “Here, give me your hand.”

It wasn’t exactly easy hauling a man more than six-feet-tall and one hundred and seventy-five pounds to his feet. It took Justin a couple tries, which did not improve Brian’s attitude.

“Great,” he said when he was finally “standing.” “That was graceful. I can’t wait to fall down on a busy trail and have to get up in front of everybody . . . Fuck! What if we see those breeders? I can’t go. It’s settled. There is _no_ way I’m giving those boneheads a show. I’ll be like a walrus trying to climb onto a rock. No way, Sunshine. This ain’t happening.”

It wasn’t for nothing that Justin had being studying the rare, bad-tempered creature known to non-scientists by the common name of “Brian Kinney.” He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll meet you back here around four-thirty. Have a good day,” he said insouciantly.

Brian was still clutching Justin’s arm for balance with a vice-like grip.

“Is there a town nearby?” he asked.

“Sure,” Justin replied chirpily. “It’s called Warren. Ask the person at the reception desk to tell you where the best shopping is.”

“Shopping?” Brian looked like a winter-weary bear sniffing gratefully at the first whiff of spring.

“Yeah, of course. Did you think people don’t shop in Vermont?”

“Given some of the outfits I’ve seen pass by this morning, I’d say ‘yes.’ But enough about them. What about me? What kind of shops are there?”

“Well, there’s a place called ‘The Warren Store.’ There’s information in the binder on the counter. It sounds quaint and fun . . .”

“Quaint,” Brian said. “Fun.” He sounded like he’d never heard the words before even though the tone he used to say them suggested impending doom.

“Yeah, there’s a cute little bakery, and they sell hand-knit sweaters and probably even some fashionable but functional footwear. Vermonters are all about ‘functional.’”

Brian’s expression was slack as though he’d lost all muscle tone in his face. His eyes were dull and seemed to look out at an uncaring world that existed merely to thwart the fulfillment of his most cherished dreams. Justin turned away and pretended to be squinting sun-watery eyes at the blinding snow. In fact he was desperately trying not to laugh his ass off.

“After you check out The Warren Store, you could drive to Waitsfield and check out the Local Artisan Gallery. My mom loves stopping there to buy handmade Christmas tree ornaments. Everything is made by local craftspeople . . .”

“Local craftspeople,” Brian said. “Tree ornaments.”

“And there are a couple outlet stores in Manchester, which is only about an hour away.”

Brian visibly perked up. Some of the color even returned to his cheeks.

“Outlets?” he said, sounding full of a hope that Justin was about to crush under his merciless heel.

“Oh yeah, there are some great stores! Let me see, if I’m remembering correctly, there’s Brooks Brothers . . .”

Brian’s hopeful expression morphed into one of utter contempt. “ _Brooks Brothers??_ ”

“Yup, although I’ve never shopped there. Everything’s too expensive and Nantucket-y. But hey, there’s also a Bass Shoe store . . . Oh, and I almost forgot – there’s even The Gap!”

“I’m in hell,” Brian said, sagging against Justin in defeat. The funniest thing about it all wasn’t just his words, but the way he said them, his voice full of moral weight and resignation. 

“And there’s a really nice bookstore in town . . .”

Brian perked up again. “Bookstore?”

Justin couldn’t take it another second. He started laughing so hard his stomach hurt.

“Yes,” he gasped. “A bookstore. It sells books. Regular books, not marginally legal imported porn. There’s no ‘adult’ to qualify it. Just ‘bookstore.’”

“Just a store. A store that sells books.”

“Yup.”

“Books distributed by reputable publishers.”

“Yup.”

“Books written by people who don’t use pseudonyms so as to avoid prosecution.”

“Yup.” 

“Books that don’t have to be packaged in opaque plastic.”

“Yup.”

“Books that don’t have boring, misleading covers so you can keep them on your coffee table when you have guests.”

“Yup.”

“Books whose sale does not implicate important constitutional rights?”

“Yup.”

“Books without pictures.”

“Yup. Unless you want to shop the kids’ section.”

“Kids’ section.”

“Yup.”

“There will be kids there.”

“Probably.”

“They’ll have damp parkas and runny noses.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“And maybe even those mittens that are attached by a yarn thread so they can’t lose them.”

“Possibly.”

“I hate kids.”

Justin sighed. They’d left the fun, magical realm of Taunting Brian Land and entered the bleak World of Repetitive Sucky Conversations.

“You don’t hate kids.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you hate Gus?”

“No, but Gus is different. He’s mine.”

Justin couldn’t help it. He had to pick at the scab. It was practically a compulsion.

“So you wouldn’t like a kid who was yours in all ways but genetics?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Because I just wouldn’t. I don’t like rug rats, even one I’d signed a bunch of paperwork and paid a shit load of money to procure. Why the _fuck_ are we talking about this again? I’m sick of this fucking conversation. I didn’t drive a fucking million miles to discuss changing diapers and organic fucking baby food. I came here to snowboard and fuck. Don’t ruin my good mood. Now where the fuck is that chair lift-thing.”

Despite Brian’s customary bitching about any and every thing that smacked of domesticity, Justin couldn’t help laughing again. Did Brian even realize how predictable he was? How easy to manipulate?

“Are you sure you don’t want to try a lesson?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“Okay, well, then how about we start out on the bunny slope?”

Brian froze. “The _what_ slope? Did you just say ‘bunny slope’? Is that what you said? Sunshine, tell me truthfully: do you want to get laid again today? Because if you do, you will _not_ let me be seen on anything that deserves the name ‘bunny slope.’ Fuck that bullshit. I’m paying a metric fuck-ton of money to be here, and I’m going to damn well see the top of this motherfucking mountain!”

Justin cringed inside but was careful not to let his dismay show on his face. This was a disaster waiting to happen. A train looking for an icy track. He took a deep breath.

“Okay. We’ll take the gondola,” he said. “Unstrap your board and follow me.” He knew Brian would take his words as an attempt to “boss him around,” but it didn’t matter. _Someone_ was going to have to have his shit in a pile or neither of them would survive past lunch.

 

Brian was not a natural at snowboarding, but neither was he worse than half bad. His biggest problem was his high center of gravity, and Justin saw right away that he’d do better on skis, which he suggested they rent for him tomorrow. Fortunately for Brian, he was so fucking hot in his form-fitting black ski pants and sleek KJUS Blade jacket that he looked good even when he was ass-over-tea-kettle and stuck in-between moguls so high that only the top of his cashmere-clad head was visible.

“We don’t _have_ to ski bump trails, you know,” Justin said while they rode back up the mountain on a chairlift. “In fact, not many boarders do. Why don’t we stick to the flat . . . ?”

“I told you,” Brian said. “No bunny slope.”

“I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that we should stick to the flat but _steep_ trails. Let me choose our route this time. I hate moguls.” Which was true; he did.

As he’d predicted, Brian did better on the groomed trails. They tried out a couple and then went back to their condo at lunchtime to fuck and eat and then fuck again. The afternoon was warmer than the others had been, and Justin was able to take off his sweater and ski in nothing but a long-sleeved cotton shirt. He predicted – correctly as it turned out – that his winter-pale face would get sunburned. Brian’s did too, although not as much – just enough to make his cheeks glow and the tip of his nose blister slightly.

“We’re buying sunscreen,” Brian said. “And I’m switching these goggles for glasses. I refuse to have a goggle-shaped tan.”

“And there I was thinking it was because you were worried about skin cancer,” Justin replied. “Silly me.”

Every time that were parted when Brian fell and Justin didn’t stop until he noticed Brian wasn’t with him, Brian got hit on by men and women alike – and even a giggly gaggle of teenaged girls. People helped him up and brushed the snow off his ass even though Brian was perfectly capable of doing it himself. By four-thirty, Brian had enlisted a grateful couple from South Africa, and the four of them fucked in front of the fire until everyone was spent and hungry. Justin noted that Brian didn’t fuck, as in penetration, either of the guys, sticking instead to sucking and hand-jobs.

So he was concerned about the HIV thing after all. The realization made Justin lose his hard-on, and he excused himself to the bathroom to take a shower. He emerged just in time to hear Brian’s famous response to topping requests.

“Sure,” he said. “When the oceans dry up and the earth stops rotating around the sun.”

He always said the same thing although sometimes the impossibilities varied. Justin’s favorite was “when God farts daisies.”

The couple joined them for a few drinks down at the lodge, but Brian fled when one of the guys tried to hold his hand under the table.

“I felt so violated,” Brian said when they got in the gondola to return to the condo. He shuddered.

Justin laughed. The guy had rimmed Brian and let him come all over his face, but hand-to-hand contact was tantamount to rape.

When they got to the condo, they turned on the Jacuzzi and jerked each other off in it.

“Do you think they change the water in-between renters?” Justin asked. 

Brian's sudden look of alarm made Justin’s stomach drop. Could the virus survive the heat?

“Jesus, I _hope_ so,” Brian said, horror in his voice. “What if we’re soaking in pussy juice?”

Both of them leaped out of the Jacuzzi with twin shrieks. They never used it again.

The next day, they rented skis for Brian and the results were all but miraculous. It turned out that Brian was far from a natural at snowboarding, but he was a fucking prodigy at skiing. Asshole. 

 

They skied the living fuck out of the mountain every day, including the day they had to checkout. Justin would’ve had the best time of his entire life but for the fear of infection that never fully disappeared even when he was able to shove it to the back of his mind.

He brought it up again in the Jeep on their ride home.

“We’ll both go to my doctor tomorrow,” Brian said. “He’s an actual professional unlike those medical school dropouts at the clinic. He does an entire blood screen. We can finally find out if you have reptilian genes in your DNA.”

Justin rolled his eyes, tipped his chair back and went to sleep. By the time Brian woke him up so they could switch, they were already in Pennsylvania. 

As soon as it’d gotten dark, the light rain they’d encountered in New York turned to snow. Brian hated driving in snow. Justin glanced at him, but he was still wheezing peacefully. He was using Justin’s parka as a blanket and Justin’s bulky sweater as a pillow. His eyes moved under his eyelids. What was he dreaming about? Justin was curious, but part of him didn’t want to know. His forays into Brian’s head had so far been shallow and brief, but the things Justin had learned from the experiences were often disturbing and left him shaken. Just beneath the beautiful exterior lurked rage-filled ecstasy and suicidal ideations. Yes, there was also happiness and fleeting wonder, but they seemed like candle flames in a perpetual storm.

Tears filled Justin’s eyes, and he looked away, keeping his gaze glued to the road for the rest of the trip.

 

Brian was exhausted after their vacation, and Justin gently mocked him about being old and creaky, but when the exhaustion didn’t lift after a few days, Justin started to worry. He, himself, had been sore for a while but any tiredness he’d felt was cured after one night of ten hours of good, solid, uninterrupted sleep. Brian, however, lingered in a fog of fatigue. Justin tried hard not to freak out. They’d gone to Brian’s doctor to be tested for everything from HIV to Lyme Disease. 

Brian was at work when Justin picked up the mail to find two envelopes with return addresses for Brian’s doctor’s office. One was plain and unremarkable, but the other, the one addressed to Brian, was stamped and read in capital red-inked letters “Come See Me Immediately!”

Justin breakfast flooded his mouth, and he had to spit in the kitchen sink. He tore open his envelope and scanned it frantically until he found the negative result for the HIV test. Part of him sagged with relief, but the other was panic-stricken. Something was clearly wrong with Brian. Justin would die of stress if he had to wait until Brian came home to find out. He dialed Brian’s cell number with quaking hands.

“Yup,” Brian said when he answered. “What’s up? I’ve got a presentation in less than half an hour. Out with it.”

Justin was speechless. What should he do? Whatever was contained in that envelope was bad news. What if it freaked Brian out so much that he fucked up his presentation – his first one as a new partner?”

“Justin,” Brian said. “Spit it out. I don’t have all day here.”

Justin cleared his throat. “Uhm, there’s a letter. I . . . I picked up the mail, and there were two letters from your doctor’s office.”

“Let me guess,” Brian said. “You’re afraid to open them. Come on, I’ve _told_ we’re fine. Just get over it and read your letter.”

Justin swallowed. “I did,” he replied. “And I’m fine.” He giggled nervously. “I don’t even have lizard genes.”

Brian snorted with amusement. “Okay,” he said. “You’ve got your good news. What’s the problem?”

“Uhm . . .” Justin paused to clear his throat again. “Brian, there’s a stamp on your envelope that says you should go to your doctor's office immediately. The 'immediately' is even underlined.”

He was answered by nothing but a long silence.

“Brian?”

“Huh?” he said as though he’d been shaken out of a dream.

“Did you hear me? The stamp is red and in capital letters.”

“Yeah,” Brian said vaguely. “I heard you.”

“Brian, I am seriously fucking scared.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Brian replied with a dismissive tone that Justin knew was feigned. “Just open it and read it to me. Maybe I have dangerously high blood pressure. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Are you sure?” Justin asked in a hoarse whisper as though the bad news was a monster that would only be dangerous if it was awakened. “What about your presentation?”

“I’m more likely to fuck up the presentation if I _don’t_ know what’s up than if I do. Let’s just say I have it. I’ll deal – _we’ll_ deal. It’s no longer a death sentence, and I’m otherwise healthy. Just open the Goddamn letter and read it to me."

Justin took a deep breath, and then another. He felt light-headed and wondered if he was on the verge of fainting. He was shaking so hard that it took forever to open the envelope. He could practically feel the vibration of fear coming from Brian’s end. At last he had it open. It was different than his had been. Whereas he’d received nothing but paperwork containing the results of all his tests, there was a letter in Brian’s envelope that’d obviously been hand-signed. He swallowed.

“There’s a letter,” he said.

“Read it,” Brian replied.

Justin willed his hands to stop shaking so that the words were actual words and not just blurred smudges.

Then he saw it. One word. One bizarre word. One impossible word. Clearly Brian’s blood sample had gotten mixed up with some woman’s because the letter said that he was pregnant.

Justin started to giggle and then to laugh. All of the other test results were good news. Brian hadn’t been infected. His blood pressure and cholesterol were fine. There was nothing amiss. Every indicator showed that Brian was healthy in every way.

“What the _fuck_ are you laughing about?” Brian asked angrily. “What are my results? If I’m positive I don’t see how it’s a laughing matter.”

“You’re not positive,” Justin replied when he recovered enough to speak. “In fact you’re healthier than you should be considering how much you drink and how much you smoke and how many drugs you do.”

“Great,” Brian replied. “Good. You can stop flipping out now. No need for panic . . . or to suffocate with laughter.”

“There’s a letter, too,” Justin said. “It’s hilarious. That was why I was laughing.”

“Okay, what does it say, and hurry up because I have some preparation to do.”

“The letter says that you’re pregnant.”

Brian busted out laughing. “Okay, I can see what’s so funny. Haha. Alright, now that this little drama has played out, I’m going to get back to work, and you’re going to get back to doing whatever the hell it is you do.”

“I do homework,” Justin replied irritably. “It’s not like I’m sitting around on my ass all day.”

“Alright, then go do your homework. Later.”

Brian hung up. Dick. Why couldn’t he just say “good-bye” like a normal person?

Justin went to the kitchen and made himself a giant sandwich in honor of their negative results. Maybe he’d be able to talk Brian into taking him out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate. Justin was busy thinking about which one he’d chose while inhaling his sandwich when the landline phone rang.

“Hello?” he said with a mouthful of ham, turkey and thick-sliced bread.

“Hello, this is Dr. Bernstein. I need to speak with Brian immediately. Is he home?”

“Nope, sorry,” Justin replied. “I can give him a message or you could call his cell phone. He’s in the middle of a presentation though, so you should wait until later this afternoon.”

The doctor sighed with obvious exasperation. “Please tell him to call me the second he’s done with the presentation. It’s imperative that I speak to him as soon as possible. You’re his partner, right? Please do me – and Brian – a favor and don’t let him drink tonight our take any drugs of any kind. Even aspirin.”

Justin bit his lip. The doctor was obviously in distress, and it would be shitty to start laughing. “Does this have something to do with the letter you sent?” he asked.

“You opened his mail?”

“Of course, I did! There was a giant red stamp saying to contact you immediately. I freaked out and called Brian. He told me to go ahead and open it, so I did. I can’t say for sure, but when he _does_ contact you, he’s going to be miffed that your office mixed up the blood samples.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Justin felt guilty. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” he said. “I’ll try to talk Brian off the ledge if he’s really upset about it.”

More silence. Justin started to sweat a little bit. When he and Brian had gone in for their tests, Justin had been impressed by the high level of professionalism and discreetness that they’d been treated with. It was weird, to say the least, that this unflappable, highly skilled and educated man would be rendered speechless over something so relatively inconsequential as a screwed up blood screening. When he still didn’t speak, Justin wondered if the connection had been broken.

“Hello?” he said. “Dr. Bernstein?”

He heard someone clear their throat.

“There was no mix-up,” Dr. Bernstein said.

“Of _course_ there was a mix-up,” Justin replied. 

“I’m afraid not.”

Now it was Justin’s turn for silence. It was weird to say the least that a doctor would wish he’d screwed up. 

“Your letter says Brian is pregnant,” Justin said, biting his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Yes, it does,” the doctor said with dead seriousness. “That’s because it’s true. He is.”

Justin couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. Either this was an amusing fuck-up that for some reason the doctor was treating as an actual finding or he’d lost his marbles.

“Uhm,” he said. “Brian is a man. He has a penis. I imagine you’ve noticed that yourself when he’s come in for check-ups.”

“Men can get pregnant,” the Dr. Bernstein replied. “It’s rare, but it does happen.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Justin said. He was starting to get a bit annoyed. He really did have homework to do.

“That’s because you haven’t been reading medical journals.”

“I’m pretty sure the news would've made the tabloid muckrakers’ day – if not the rest of their professional lives.”

“That’s because the last case of male pregnancy was in the early nineteen-hundreds.”

Justin huffed in exasperation. “I’m sure I would’ve heard about it in some way,” he said.

“I don’t know why you haven’t,” the doctor replied. “It’s rather common knowledge. I will not be surprised if Brian’s heard of it.”

“Look, this has been entertaining, and I’m sure Brian will appreciate your concern,” Justin said, knowing full well that Brian won’t. “But I’ve got to get back to my homework.”

Dr. Bernstein sighed heavily. “I’m not surprised you don’t believe me,” he said. “Brian won’t either. He probably won’t until the first signs of his pregnancy appear. All the same, it is an _absolute imperative_ that he not drink or smoke or do drugs. Even at this very early stage, the fetus is affected by everything from one cocktail to one cigarette.”

That seemed a little extreme, Justin thought. Jesus, no wonder pregnant women were so bitchy.

“I think the likelihood of me being able to stop Brian from doing any of those things is infinitesimally small.”

“You _must_ try. If he decides to keep the baby and not have an abortion, then it needs to have a chance to be healthy. Surely you – and he can understand that.”

“Fine,” Justin said. “I’ll do what I can. He’s not going to like it though.”

“I don’t _care_ what Brian would like or wouldn’t like. This is not a mistake, and it certainly isn’t a ploy to get Brian to live a healthier lifestyle. This is a viable pregnancy I’m talking about for heaven’s sake!”

Justin was stunned into silence. He thought he might’ve heard the Dr. Bernstein's voice crack with either agitation or tears or both.

Jesus fucking Christ. What if it was true?

“Am I getting through to you?” Dr. Bernstein yelled. 

“Brian doesn’t bottom.”

“Well, obviously he did and recently at that.”

The broken condom.

Jesus, the broken condom.

“There’s a man walking around out there somewhere. A man who is a father,” Dr. Bernstein said, his voice raspy with emotion. “A father who has the right to know he’s produced a child.”

A father.

The broken condom.

Oh my God. _Oh my fucking God!_

Justin cleared his throat. “We’ll obviously need a second – and probably even a third and fourth opinion, maybe even a hundred opinions. You must understand how fucking bat-shit this sounds.”

“I do understand,” DR. Bernstein replied. “And I definitely agree there should be more tests performed by completely independent doctors. When I received the results, I requested a second screening. When those results came back and were the same as the first set, I called a blood work specialist and an OB/GYN – actually _two_ OB/GYNs. They all reached the same conclusion that Brian is pregnant.”

Justin couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even think.

“Listen,” Dr. Bernstein said. “I will do what needs to be done. I’ll give you my personal cell phone number. If Brian wants to see me in person tonight – no matter how late – I will meet him at my office or even make a house call. I’m sure I’ve been able to impress upon you how urgent the situation is. I have concerns not only for the fetus, but for Brian himself. His body is not designed to carry a child . . .”

“ _No shit!_ ” Justin said, interrupting him. 

Dr. Bernstein ignored his outburst. “There are countless things that can go wrong. If the fetus dies, Brian will have necrotic tissue in close vicinity to all of his vital organs. There’s a possibility of serious infection capable of leading to death. I need – and an OB/GYN needs – to examine him. Right now, the pregnancy is normal . . .”

“ _Normal?_ ” Justin squeaked. “Did you just say the word ‘normal’?” 

Again, the doctor ignored the interruption. “Normal as in viable,” he said. “The proper hormones are in his blood stream, and there’s been an increase in the production of red blood cells. These are good signs . . .”

 _"Good signs?!"_

“. . . but a more thorough exam must be performed as soon as possible. Just as with women, the fetus is contained, nourished and protected by the placenta, but male bodies are incapable of producing placentas as thick and durable as women’s. In fact they’re quite fragile. In addition to not drinking, smoking or doing drugs, Brian must significantly cut back on all strenuous physical activity . . .”

“You mean he has to be on bed rest or something??”

“No, that isn’t necessary, at least not yet. But he should stay away from aerobic exercise – which actually might happen naturally. His body is undergoing an extraordinary process, and he’ll be noticeably fatigued.”

“Fatigued,” Justin repeated, his voice flat with shock.

“Has it already manifested?” Dr. Bernstein asked, and when Justin said Brian had seemed unusually tired recently, the doctor replied with a very unprofessional “See? I _told_ you! _Now_ do you believe me?”

“But we just got back from a skiing trip,” Justin replied. “I’ve been tired too . . .”

The good doctor freaked out. Justin seriously considered hanging up and calling a psychiatric hospital.

“He was skiing??? As in snow skiing? On mountains? Please don’t also tell me he was in a hot tub!”

“Uhm,” Justin replied. “Once, but only once.”

“Oh shit . . . But it might not matter,” Dr. Bernstein continued in a way that suggested he was babbling to himself. “It all depends on when conception occurred. We need to pin-point the time as closely as possible. We know it has to have been quite recently . . .”

“The condom broke,” Justin said dully. His voice sounded distant even to himself. “It broke while I was fucking him . . . er, having penetrative sexual activity early last week. I didn’t realize it until I pulled out. There was come . . . er, semen inside him. I was buried as deep as possible and just kind of froze that way when I . . . uhm, ejaculated. It felt like buckets. He’s only ever let me fuck . . . have sex with him once before, and I wanted it _so much_. It’s a fantasy come to life. I came so hard. So long.”

Now it was he who was talking to himself, reliving in vivid detail every minute of that fuck. “That’s when it must’ve happened,” he said vaguely. 

“It fits the time-frame,” Dr. Bernstein said. “Sounds like it’s you who’s the father, although we’ll want to confirm that with a blood test when the fetus is a bit larger.”

Justin was silent for a long, _long_ time. His mind was whirling with what-ifs? and what-can-I-do? At last he settled on an idea. Brian was going to _hate_ it, but it was the only way.

“Can you come here?” he asked. “Can you be here when he gets home this evening? I simply can’t be the one who tells him all of this crazy shit. He’ll flip out at me, and no offense intended, I’d much rather he flip out at you. I’ll go stay with my friend for a while. He might not want to see me for a long time . . .” Justin’s voice broke as the various realities began to sink in. “He might hate me. He . . . he might get rid of the baby, and I . . . I don’t want him to. But he’ll never consult me. He’ll just go ahead and do it. And if he decided to keep it, who will take care of him? He won’t even let me take care of him when he has the flu! No one must know that Brian Kinney is sick. What if he really _is_ pregnant and he shuts me out of his life? Who’s going to be there for him? What if he tries to induce a miscarriage by drinking himself into black-outs every night? What happens if he even shuts _you_ out? He could die! And it would my fault!”

That’s when he started to cry . . . no, not cry, _sob_. This was a slowly unfolding nightmare of boundless proportions whose horrific details no one yet could foresee.

“Please, _please_ come here,” he said. “I’ll do anything; I’ll find the money somehow and pay whatever you ask . . .”

“Money isn’t the issue here,” Dr. Bernstein said. “In fact it’s the farthest thing from my mind. What matters now is that Brian remains healthy and stays safe. When will he be home?”

“Probably around six. It’s Friday and he likes to go out . . . Oh God,” Justin moaned when his own words ricocheted back to him across an infinity of space and time.

“Then I’ll be there at five-thirty,” Dr. Bernstein said. “If you hear he’ll be coming home sooner, call me immediately.”

He gave Justin the number for his personal phone. “Try to stay calm,” he said. “Nothing good can happen if you start getting panicky.”

“Don’t worry,” Justin replied. “As soon as you arrive, I intend to get the fuck out of Dodge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken more liberties with the facts regarding Sugarbush and its vicinity, which is a pretty funny thing to apologize for when I'm writing an mpreg story. LOL. Anyway, it's not true that the outlet stores in Manchester, VT, are run-of-the-mill. In fact they include both Gucci and Armani, which, as a quasi Vermonter (I grew up just on the bank of the Connecticut River), I fancy, expensive shops, I can assure you, are not being visited by locals. It's all about LL. Bean and Patagonia - and maybe just a bit of Prana thrown in the mix. That's "Prana" not "Prada."


	3. The News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Bernstein tells Brian he's pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to Ethan. You didn't think I could write a Season Two fic without mentioning him, did you? Fortunately, this is a canon-divergent story, and Ethan can just go fuck off.

Daphne was home. Thank you, God! But she wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” Ethan Gold said when Justin walked through the door.

Justin froze, his mouth open and his brain (which was already seriously compromised) petrified.

“Struck wordless,” Ethan said. “How sweet.”

Daphne looked at Justin and rolled her eyes.

“Uhm,” Justin said. “What’s going on?” He hadn’t moved to close the door behind him or take off his parka.

“You tell me,” Daphne said. Was that anger in her voice? “This guy . . .”

“Ethan,” said Ethan.

Daphne didn’t even turn to look at him. “. . . showed up about an hour ago wanting to ‘talk about you.’”

“Huh?” Justin said. “Who? What?”

“Oh my God,” Daphne said. “Are you deaf or stoned or both? Shut the door. Take off your jacket, and have a glass of wine . . .”

“Can’t,” Justin mumbled. “Baby.”

“I am not your ‘baby,’” Daphne said. “Maybe you’re _his_ though.” She nodded at Ethan where he was ensconced in her favorite ratty armchair. “But, silly me, I thought you already had a boyfriend. At least you did when I saw you on your birthday. Granted that was three weeks ago, and a lot can change in twenty-one days, but last I knew you were head-over-heels for Brian.”

“That’s when we met,” Ethan said. “On his birthday. Justin’s friends took him to a recital I was playing. I gave him a CD.” He turned his attention to Justin. “Have you had a chance to listen to it again?”

Justin just stared at him. Birthday? Recital? CD? Once upon a time those words must’ve made sense to him; at least he recognized the sounds, but he sure as fuck couldn’t understand them.

Daphne came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Justin turned his head to look at her. His expression must’ve been alarming because she grabbed his arm and led him, stumbling, to her futon.

“Justin,” she said. “Seriously. What’s going on? You’re really freaking me out right now.”

Justin blinked at her. He turned to Ethan and blinked at him too. They were both staring at him.

“Your little beard thing is weird,” he told Ethan. “It looks like you were eating something furry and got some of it on your face by accident.”

Ethan reflexively covered his chin and frowned. “Are you on drugs?” he asked. “And if you are, can I have some?”

“No drugs,” Justin said. “Baby.”

“Now you’re calling him ‘baby’?” Daphne said. “Jus, stop kidding around. I’ll call your mom.”

“Do you want a cigarette?” Ethan asked. “I find smoking takes the edge off my nerves when I have to play for an audience.”

“No cigarettes,” Justin said. “Baby.”

Ethan winked at him. “Okay, baby,” he said meaningfully.

“If you two are going to have sex, could you please do it somewhere else?” Daphne said irritably. “My roommate’s due back any second.”

“Hey, that sounds like a good idea,” Ethan said. “Not necessarily the sex part, I mean I know you’re with some guy, but we could go hang out at my place.”

Justin suddenly came to life. It felt like having a needle full of Epinephrine stabbed in his heart, forcing it to beat again. He leapt up from the futon as though a wasp had stung him in the ass.

Some guy?

_Some guy?_

The same “some guy” who was returning home as they spoke from what was probably a stressful day. The same “some guy” who’d encounter Dr. Bernstein sitting on his couch where he’d expected to see Justin. The same “some guy” who was probably champing at the bit to go to Woody’s to hang out with the boys and get shitfaced. The same “some guy” who was no doubt fantasizing about fucking his brains out in the backroom of Babylon and then fucking Justin when they got home. The same “some guy” who’d be dancing, taking E and drinking Red Bull to stay awake until dawn.

The same “some guy” who was pregnant with their baby!

The same “some guy” who was, at that very moment, being told the most momentous, potentially catastrophic news a man could possibly receive. What was going on right now? Had the seriousness of the situation sunk in yet? How about the health implications? The lifestyle implications? The sanity implications? Was Brian in shock? Raging at the universe? Imagining countless gruesome ways to kill him and countless ways to dispose of the body? . .

. . . Or worst of all. What if Brian simply disbelieved the news, and there was nothing his doctor could say or do to make him believe it?

“He’s not ‘some guy,’” Justin said with eerie calm. “His name is Brian.”

Ethan shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “Cool,” he said. “Look, we can go to my place and just listen to music or something.” He stood up and approached Justin. “I know you like me,” he continued. “I saw it in your eyes that day you stopped by the practice room while I was playing. You told me you listened to my CD six times. I’m not saying we have to be lovers right away or anything, but we owe it to each other and ourselves to at least explore the possibility.”

The whole time Ethan was walking toward him, Justin was backing up until he was stopped by the wall. Suddenly he felt trapped; the sensation was inexplicably terrifying. He placed his hands on Ethan’s chest and gave him a shove.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” he said wildly. “I cannot even begin to tell you how trivial everything you’re saying sounds! CD? I don’t even know what you’re talking about?”

Daphne cleared her throat. “Not that I want to get involved in this . . . whatever it is, but I do recall you raving ecstatically about some CD some guy had given you.”

Justin blinked at her. He knew it wasn’t fair, but right at that moment, he felt like Daphne was betraying him in some way for reasons he couldn’t understand. Why was Ethan even there at all? Had someone already explained things? Had it just gone in one of his ears and out the other?

“Why are you here?” he asked, more perplexed that angry. “How’d you even know I was going to be here?”

Ethan smiled a bashful smile that Justin supposed might’ve been endearing under drastically different circumstances.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he replied. “You’re all I see day and night. I just . . . I guess I just needed to talk to someone about you. I knew you were friends with Daphne . . .”

“You did?” Daphne said. “That’s news to me.”

Ethan blushed a deep red. “I followed the two of you the other day. I didn’t set out to do it. I’m not some stalker. It’s just that I saw you two walking and decided to see where you were going. You came here, so I figured this was Daphne’s apartment. It seemed too-studenty for some thirty-year-old guy.”

“His name is Brian,” Justin said.

Ethan sighed. “I know. I heard you the first time.”

Justin looked at Daphne, who merely shrugged helplessly. He looked back at Ethan and felt a sudden bone-deep jolt of anger.

“And what, pray tell, did you learn about me . . . ?”

“Nothing important,” Daphne interrupted, obviously aware that something seriously weird was going on.

Justin ignored her, and kept his eyes glued to Ethan’s. 

“Did you learn my astrological sign? Did you learn what my favorite brand of cereal is? Did you ask about my parents? My sister? My friends? Did you inquire after my favorite color? What about my favorite animal? Or fruit? Or car? Or did you try to pick my best friend’s brain about my relationship? Something tells me you couldn’t give a shit about what books I read or T.V. shows I watch. You wanted to know about me and Brian. Well, let me tell you myself so you don’t have to harass Daph. Brian is more than my boyfriend. He’s even more than my soul mate. He’s the father of my child!”

Silence. A long, drawn-out, loaded, weird, awkward silence.

“Justin,” Daphne said. “Sit down.” She took his hand and led him back to the futon. He sat down in a trance, and she sat down beside him. He wanted so badly to be able to talk to her, but he couldn’t tell her about Brian and the whole pregnancy thing. He’d already crossed the line far enough. Brian would _never_ forgive him if he found out Justin had told other people about what was going on.

“Are you saying that you and Brian are going to adopt a baby?” Daphne said. “But I thought he hates kids?”

“He does,” Justin said, despair suddenly cresting in his heart like a wave. It was true. Brian did hate kids. He’d said so again for the millionth time when they were in Vermont. The news that he’s pregnant was going to be _more_ than catastrophic – it could even be deadly! He remembered Michael telling him once about how Brian had talked about jumping off the roof of the hospital and ending it all the night Gus was born.

He had to get home. Fuck Brian if he didn’t want him there. He had no choice. Justin would handcuff himself to something immovable and swallow the key. 

He jumped up again. “I have to go home,” he said. “I can’t just sit here talking about inconsequential bullshit! I have to be with Brian! He needs me!”

Daphne tried to grab his sleeve, but he was already halfway out the door.

“Justin, I’m scared,” she said. “You’re scaring me so much right now. Please stay. I’ll kick him out.” She nodded in Ethan’s direction. “I don’t want you to leave like this. Are you having a bad trip or something? Should I call a doctor?”

Justin groaned. Doctors. No more doctors. He took a deep breath, and tried his best to calm down. He even gave her a smile. He had to get his shit in a pile!

“You don’t need to take me to the hospital,” he said gently, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Yeah, okay, I took some LSD . . . or something, I don’t know. But the point is I’m fine. I’ll even leave my bike here and take a cab back to Brian’s. Don’t worry, okay?”

She merely nodded. “Call me when you get back,” she said and kissed his cheek.

Justin turned to go down the stairs when Ethan pushed past Daphne and grabbed his arm.

“Don’t leave like this,” he said imploringly. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. This is a thoughtless invasion of your privacy. If I could go back in time and stop myself, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’ve had a bit too much wine. Please don’t hold it against me – against _us_. I . . . I think I might be in love with you!”

In love?? Ethan didn’t even know him! Justin looked at him – at his deep, soulful eyes so earnest and beseeching, his playfully tangled dark hair, and all he could think was “What the hell was I thinking?” He’d actually toyed with the thought of leaving Brian for another man? Had he been fucking crazy??

He turned to face Ethan and looked down at Ethan’s hand, which was still gripping his arm. Ethan yanked it back as though Justin’s gaze was a lash of fire.

“I’m leaving,” Justin said. “And so are you. I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to lead you on, but you must understand one simple fact. I am _never_ going to leave Brian, so forget about me. Go find someone who’s not in a relationship – or who’s in a relationship he doesn’t give a shit about.”

Without waiting for Ethan’s response, Justin ran down the stairs and out into the freedom of a cold, dark night.

 

He had no idea what he’d encounter when he entered the loft, so he knew he had to be prepared for anything. Would Brian be crying? Would he be hammered? Would he yell and scream and throw things? Would he be violent? Justin had no clue, but whatever it was, he was ready to do whatever had to be done – no matter what it was. He took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and slid it open . . .

. . . for a moment, Justin couldn’t see him. Had he gone out? Christ, he should’ve checked if the Jeep was there before coming upstairs! Where could he be? Was he okay? Was he _alive_?

Then Justin saw him. He was lying on the couch with headphones on listening to his CD player. Justin approached him slowly. His eyes were closed and he was moving his bare feet in time with whatever it was he was listening to. Justin didn’t want to startle him. God knows how he’d react . . .

. . . Suddenly Brian opened his eyes. When he saw Justin standing there, he gave him a big, saucy grin. His Friday night grin. His I’ve-already-had-a-few-beers grin.

“Hey,” he said, pulling off his headphones. “Where the hell were you? I was about to go to Woody’s without you. Hurry up and get in some clothes that won’t cause me to be embarrassed in your presence.”

Justin stared at him. What the motherfucking fuck? Had the doctor left before Brian came home? Had the doctor told him everything he’d told Justin?

Brian frowned. “What’s up?” he asked.

_What’s up?_

“I’m sorry,” Justin said very slowly. “But did you just ask me ‘what’s up?’”

Brian sat up. “Yeah, I did,” he replied. “And I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“Did . . . didn’t you talk . . . wasn’t Dr. Bernstein here when you got home?”

Brian started laughing. “Oh, that,” he said. “So he talked to you too? So much for fucking HIPAA. Good thing it was nothing serious or I’d sue his ass.”

“Nothing serious?” Justin said. For some reason, he thought he might start crying.

Brian stood. “Oh for the love of Christ,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me you believe all that shit? C’mon, Sunshine, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“But . . . but . . .”

“No more ‘but buts.’ The only butt I care about is yours, and it better get to the bedroom now so you can get dressed, and we can get the fuck out of here. It’s Friday night, for fuck sake!”

Tears filled Justin’s eyes and ran down his cheeks. He didn’t even try to wipe them away.

“Oh Christ,” Brian said. “Really? Is this actually going to happen? Do I actually have to talk to you about this? Seriously? Yeah, you’re young, but you’re not retarded. At least I hadn’t thought so until now.”

His voice sounded annoyed, but Brian reached for him anyway and pulled him in for a hug. Justin knew Brian couldn’t bear to see him cry.

“Brian,” he said, his voice muffled in Brian’s shirt. “Can we at least _pretend_ it’s true? Just until we talk to some other doctors? Please?”

Brian pushed Justin away so he could look in his eyes, but his hands remained on Justin’s shoulders.

“It’s bullshit,” Brain said. His voice sounded dead serious. “It’s inexplicable, ridiculous bullshit. I don’t know what’s going on in Bernstein’s head, but whatever it is, I’m not going to let it freak you out . . . or keep me from drinking all the booze I can hold, smoking a field’s worth of pot and dropping as much E as I can and still stay standing up. You’re lucky I’m not ballistic. I should kick your ass out and get a restraining order for letting Bernstein in here while I wasn’t home, and then just taking off somewhere.”

Justin swallowed. He’d worried that Brian would hate him, but this was infinitely worse.

Brian dropped his hands and walked over to the kitchen island where he proceeded to pour himself a glass of Beam and empty it with one swallow.

Then he poured another.

What was Justin going to do? Was he going to tag along to Woody’s and Babylon and try to water down Brian’s drinks all night? Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could bear to watch Brian kill their baby for nothing more than a brief fucking buzz. He’d cry. He knew he would. It would tear him to shreds.

“I’m not going,” he said, crossing his arms. Brian looked at him and shrugged.

“Fine. Whatever. Don’t wait up for me.”

He went to the bedroom to put on some shoes.

“Please, Brian!” Justin cried after him. “ _Please_! I’m begging you!”

Brian didn’t respond, but when he came downstairs, he fixed Justin with a glacial stare.

“This is it,” he said with loaded calm. “You’ve said what you think you needed to say. I listened, but I am _not_ going to stay here sipping warm milk and reading 'Your Pregnancy Day-by-Day' books. It’s simply not going to happen, Justin. Deal with it. I’m going out, and I’m going to do what I do every Friday night. I’m going to have a good time – whatever I choose that to mean. If I want to do coke, I’ll do coke. If I want to drink till I puke, I’m going to drink till I puke. You’re pulling a fucking Mikey on me, and that’s something I _never_ thought you would do. Now do what you want. I’m leaving.”

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cliffie of all cliffies. I'm unapologetic ;)


	4. Failure to Thrive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian experiences the first symptom of his pregnancy, and it's not pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING!** This chapter may be disturbing to some readers. You can skip it and not lose the plot or flow of the story, so if you think you might want to avoid it, follow your instincts. There is also a lot of angst followed by a cliffhanger.
> 
> This chapter contains many references to drug and alcohol use during pregnancy and the devastating consequences for the child. It also contains a frank, possibly distressing, discussion about abortion. My views on the subject are NOT ascertainable, so please do not engage me in a discussion about abortion. Reading this chapter will reveal nothing of my actual thoughts.

The door clanged shut. Justin stood there for a long time just staring at it. He had this weird feeling that if he could only wish hard enough, Brian would come back. But, of course, he didn’t.

Justin’s feet felt leaden as he walked to the couch and sat down on its very edge. What was he going to do for the next God-only-knew how many hours?

Had he made a mistake? Should he have gone with Brian? Would knowing what Brian was doing be easier than not knowing? But Justin _did_ know what Brian was doing. Brian’s Friday nights were always the same. Come home from work; mellow out with a joint and a couple beers; go to Woody’s to meet the boys, play pool and darts and drink more beer; then it’s off to Babylon, which had its very own ritual. Drink a glass of Beam; take some E; go to the backroom for a warm up blow-job; drink another glass of Beam; hang out drinking and talking with the boys at the bar while choosing his prime target for the night; do some coke; drink another glass of Beam; dance; drink another glass of Beam; take some more E; hang out drinking and talking with the boys; dance; drink another glass of Beam; do a bump; nail his target and fuck him in the backroom; return to the bar to receive his congratulatory slaps on the back from the boys; drink a Red Bull and another glass of Beam; dance; get another blow-job; dance; drink another glass of Beam etc. etc. etc.

It was amazing that Brian could even get out of bed on Saturday, let alone do the exact same thing again Saturday night. Justin had always found it disturbing – not so much all the sex, but the drinking and drugs. Brian had turned getting completely fucked-up into an art form. The only drugs he _didn’t_ do were crack, heroin and crystal. Everything else, from prescription pills to hallucinogenic mushrooms, was fair game.

Justin didn’t want to do it. In fact, he was sure it was only going to make the night more unbearable, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was a fact-slut. Facts were his high (or, in this case, his low). He went to the desk and turned on Brian’s computer, smiling, despite himself, at the desktop photo of Brian and Michael as teenagers hamming it up for the camera.

Then he got on the web and started reading . . . and reading and reading and reading. Even when his eyes were blurred with tears, he kept reading.

First he googled “Pregnancy, Drug, Addiction, Impacts” and immediately found information on what can happen to infants if their mothers abused drugs while they were pregnant. It turned out that infants can be born already addicted to the drugs their mothers were abusing.

__**Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome:** Symptoms depend on the drug involved. They can begin within 1 - 3 days after birth, or they may take 5 - 10 days to appear. They may include:  
Blotchy skin coloring (mottling)  
Diarrhea  
Excessive crying or high-pitched crying  
Excessive sucking  
Fever  
Hyperactive reflexes  
Increased muscle tone  
Irritability  
Poor feeding  
Rapid breathing  
Seizures  
Sleep problems  
Slow weight gain  
Stuffy nose, sneezing  
Sweating  
Trembling (tremors)  
Vomiting 

The information was accompanied by heart-wrenching videos and photographs of infants who’d been born addicted to everything from cocaine to Xanax. The poor little things were screaming their heads off – not in a normal way, but in a way that suggested they were in agonizing pain. Justin tried to imagine starting out your life that way! It was so unfair! As he kept reading, he grew increasingly angry at the mothers who’d caused their babies torture and terror within days of their birth.

Then he googled “Ecstasy, Pregnancy, Babies.”

_Studies have found that infants born to mothers who used Ecstasy during pregnancy had worse motor control and poorer hand-eye coordination at 4 months than babies whose mothers didn't use the drug. Other problems among the ecstasy-exposed group included an impaired ability to balance their heads, sit up without support or roll from their back on to their side._

_Not unlike their mothers, themselves, when they’re on E_ , Justin thought angrily. Then he googled “Marijuana, Smoking, Pregnant, Effects.” He skipped over websites that weren’t from a known reputable source, sticking to the NIH, the CDC or the Mayo Clinic sites (although sometimes he'd take a peek at WebMD, but double checked any information he found there – he was an unapologetic web snob). 

_Any form of smoking can disrupt the supply of oxygen and nutrients to the fetus, which can result in restrictions in the growth of the fetus (including overall length, foot length, head size and body weight), and in rare cases premature birth, miscarriage and stillbirth_.

_There is some evidence that women who use marijuana during pregnancy are more likely to give birth to babies with lower birth weight, delayed commencement of breathing, an increase in features similar to those found in foetal alcohol syndrome, exaggerated startle response, tremors, poorer eye-sight, poorer ability to adapt to new aspects of the environment, and a "hole in the heart" (ventricular septal defect)._  


_Other studies have found that in the first six months of life, babies who have been exposed to marijuana in utero are also at greater risk of developing asthma, chest infections, and other breathing problems such as wheezing. Research suggests that, at ages three to four years, children of mothers who used marijuana while pregnant have poorer verbal, memory and reasoning ability; poorer motor skills and shorter length of play; and are more likely to be fearful, impulsive, inattentive, hyperactive and delinquent. These difficulties appear to persist to age 10 years, when they may be accompanied by increased depression and anxiety, along with reading and spelling problems and general underachievement at school. Such deficits may also continue into adolescence and early adulthood, along with an increased risk for initiation of tobacco and marijuana use. In addition, there exists some evidence that mothers’ marijuana use during pregnancy increases the risk of their children developing childhood cancers, including non-lymphoblastic leukaemia, rhabdomyosarcoma (a rare, highly malignant tumour that can occur anywhere in the body), and astrocytoma (a type of brain tumor)._

Cancer?! Jesus Fucking Christ! Unable to stop himself even though he knew his brain was likely to explode with rage, Justin looked up each of the cancers mentioned and their accompanying pictures . . .

. . . after just a couple minutes, he had to get up and walk around, shaking out his hands and twisting his neck to get the cricks out. He must’ve been sitting all this time with his shoulders hunched up around his ears! He ached all over.

The babies . . . but there were no words. Tiny infants with enormous malignant tumors all over their bodies. Toddlers with shaved heads and big, wide, trusting eyes watching a nurse inject some sort of cancer-killing chemical into their thin, little arms. Grade-schoolers in wheel chairs or with deformed limbs and faces . . .

But he wouldn’t stop. He hadn’t even done the worst google search yet – the one that he was most dreading in light of Brian's lifestyle. He sat back down, took a deep breath and typed the words “Alcohol, Pregnancy, Effects.” The mountain of results was overwhelming. He picked through them carefully, making sure each site met his standards for accuracy.

_Fetal alcohol syndrome (FAS) is a condition that results from alcohol exposure during pregnancy. Problems that may be caused by fetal alcohol syndrome include physical deformities, mental retardation, learning disorders, vision difficulties and behavioral problems._

_The problems caused by fetal alcohol syndrome vary from child to child, but defects caused by fetal alcohol syndrome are irreversible. _

_There is no amount of alcohol that's known to be safe to consume during pregnancy. If you drink during pregnancy, you place your baby at risk of fetal alcohol syndrome._

_Fetal alcohol syndrome is a common — yet preventable — cause of mental retardation. The severity of mental problems varies, with some children experiencing them to a far greater degree than others._

_Signs of fetal alcohol syndrome may include:_

_Low birth weight_  
Distinctive facial features, including small eyes, an exceptionally thin upper lip, a short, upturned nose, and a smooth skin surface between the nose and upper lip  
Deformities of joints, limbs and fingers  
Slow physical growth before and after birth  
Vision difficulties or hearing problems  
Small head circumference and brain size (microcephaly)  
Poor coordination/fine motor skills and learning difficulties, including poor memory, inability to understand concepts such as time and money, poor language comprehension, poor problem-solving skills  
Organ dysfunction, including heart defects  
Mental retardation , delayed development and learning disorders  
Abnormal behavior, such as a short attention span, hyperactivity, poor impulse control, extreme nervousness and anxiety  
Poor socialization skills, such as difficulty building and maintaining friendships and relating to groups  
Lack of imagination or curiosity  
Failure to thrive 

Failure to Thrive. Three little words that managed to encompass all of the preceding effects. Justin’s heart broke when he read that children with FAS often lack imagination and fine motor skills; there was a chance that the baby Brian was carrying might be an artist, but the possibility might be obliterated before he or she was even born. But it was those three little words that finally broke him.

Failure to thrive.

If he didn’t intervene now, in whatever way he could, it seemed to him that Brian would _have_ to get an abortion. Being his mother’s son, Justin was, of course, pro-choice, so he didn’t have moral issues with abortion, but he sure as hell had emotional issues. He _wanted_ this baby more than anything. He also knew he couldn’t live with himself – or Brian – if Brian went ahead with a pregnancy that resulted in a human being who would Fail to Thrive. It was as though they were playing God, shaping a person into what he or she can or cannot be, shaping how their lives will go before they’re even born!

He could picture it. His and Brian’s baby convulsing and screaming helplessly, and nothing they could do could bring it comfort or ease its pain. His and Brian’s baby slow to do (or even incapable of doing) things normal babies do like roll over and lift their heads and play with words and sounds. His and Brian’s baby deformed in any number of countless ways, its lungs incapable of drawing a full breath, its body riddled with cancer, a mind listless, a heart already broken . . .

Failure to thrive.

Justin finally freaked the fuck out. 

He lept up from the computer chair so abruptly that it rolled away and hit the wall. He shoved his sockless feet into his sneakers, grabbed his parka and ran to the door. His hands were shaking so hard that he had trouble activating the alarm. The fucking task seemed to take _forever_. Finally, the alarm was activated and the door locked. He fumbled to put on his parka as he rocketed down the stairs, bumping into the downstairs neighbors and almost knocking them over as he took the stairs two at a time.

And then he was outside running so hard that he thought he might puke. Woody’s wasn’t that far away, but every inch of sidewalk felt like a thousand miles of slogging through a swamp. He slammed shoulders with people left and right, not stopping to apologize (despite the wailing of the WASPy little voice in his head). The sidewalk was icy, and he slipped and skidded into mailboxes and lampposts. The colors of Liberty Avenue on a Friday night were smeared into streaks as though he was looking out the window of a speeding car. There was nothing in his head but the savage will to find Brian. He was possessed by the need to stop him some way or another and perhaps even by drastic means like jumping on the bar and announcing to the whole room that Brian Kinney was pregnant and _please_ will you all stop giving him E and buying him drinks! Brian would be so mortified that he’d have to leave. True, he’d never speak to Justin again, but maybe it would be the jolt he needed to take things seriously . . .

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the tight knot of people blocking the sidewalk in a solid wall. He thought they were merely pedestrians that he could shove and push his way through, but when he tried, he found that he was impeded by the sheer number of people and their closeness to each other. He was just about to run out into the street and go around them when he heard his name. He wheeled around to find Ted trotting toward him without his coat.

Something was wrong.

Ted grabbed his arm even though Justin had stopped. His expression was serious and distraught.

“It’s Brian, isn’t it,” Justin said.

Ted looked surprised for an instant, and then he nodded. He started trying to tell Justin something, but Justin was already elbowing his way through the crowd, battling to reach the center. Some people recognized him and let him pass, telling their companions to move aside. It nonetheless seemed like forever, but finally Justin saw Brian. He was curled in a ball, rocking from side-to-side. His face was pale and damp with sweat, and he’d obviously thrown up because there was a puddle of vomit not far away. He was moaning raggedly, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Michael was kneeling on one side of Brian, and Emmett was on the other. They were both frantically trying to comfort him and get him to talk, but Brian was apparently incapable of speaking. Michael was the closest to him, and Justin shoved him aside and dropped to his knees.

“Hey!” Michael yelled. “What the fuck are you doing?” He started pushing and slapping and hitting Justin like a maniac. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You weren’t even here! You’re nobody to him . . . !”

Justin didn’t even look at him let alone waste time fighting back. Thankfully, Emmett stepped in.

“Here, honey,” he said gently to Michael. “I’ll go find Teddy. Take my place, although I do think it might be a good thing if people stopped crowding in. Brian needs space to breathe.”

Michael seemed to snap out of whatever bat-shit state of mind he’d been in. He stood up and moved to where Emmett had been and then he knelt again, helplessly brushed Brian’s sweat-soaked hair back from his face. He was suddenly blind to Justin – probably even to the rest of the whole world. All he seemed to see was his best friend in distress.

Justin gently shook Brian’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said as calmly as he could. “What’s going on here?”

Brian reacted to his voice but only slightly. He stopped rocking for a moment and opened his eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and then he said the most alarming words Justin had ever heard him say.

“I think I need to go to the hospital,” Brian said. “Now.”

Ted was nearby and heard Brain’s words. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket to call 911, but Justin jumped up and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t,” he said in a harsh whisper. “Let me call.”

Ted just looked at him for a moment and then nodded. Justin flipped open his phone. Thank God, he’d added Dr. Bernstein’s number to his list of contacts! He didn’t even hear a ring before the doctor answered.

“It’s Brian,” Justin said. “Something’s really wrong. He asked us to call an ambulance . . .”

“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” Dr. Bernstein said and hung up.

Justin dialed 911 and then knelt down again. He reached for Brian’s hand; Brian’s grip was vicelike. He was groaning continuously, and his eyes were squeezed shut again.

“It’s okay,” Justin said, hoping that he was going to be able to handle this. He wasn’t sure he could, but he knew he had to all the same. He looked at Michael who was rubbing Brian’s back.

“What happened?” Justin asked him in a low voice so that only Michael could hear him.

Michael looked at him with eyes wide with fear. “I don’t know,” he said. “I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, he was gone. I thought he was . . . you know, getting blown or something, but Em said Brian had told him he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go home. Of course I thought that was weird, so I came out to see if I could catch up with him. That’s when I saw him leaning against that railing . . .” Michael paused to point at the puddle of vomit. “He was throwing up, which was weird because he hadn’t had that much to drink . . .”

“How much was 'not that much?'” Justin interrupted.

“I . . . I'm not sure,” Michael replied. He looked up beseechingly at Ted. “I know he had a beer when he first got here and then another while we were waiting for the pool table . . .”

“. . . and a couple more while you guys were playing,” Ted jumped in. “And then he started hitting the Beam, but I only saw him drink two glasses. Then he left.”

Justin covered his face and laid it on Brian’s trembling shoulder. _Only two glasses_. Jesus, Brian drank so fucking much! One’s got a real drinking problem if one doesn’t have a sufficient buzz after drinking at least one beer at home, two glasses of whiskey, four more beers, followed then by more whiskey. He lifted his head and looked back and forth between Michael and Ted.

“Did he do anything other than drink?” he asked.

Michael nodded. “We smoked a joint in the bathroom . . .”

“. . . and he did a spoonful of coke while he was playing pool,” Ted added.

Justin bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to keep from crying. At least seven drinks, pot and coke, all within the space of about three hours!

Failure to Thrive. The words were a scream ricocheting around in his mind, slamming against his skull again and again.

Brian suddenly released his hand, rolled from his side to his front, raised himself up on to his hands and knees and started retching violently.

“Oh, baby,” Justin breathed, knowing there was no way that Brian would hear him but needing to use the endearment anyway, for himself. He rubbed Brian’s back, and Michael held Brian’s hair out of the way. In-between retches, Brian groaned and whimpered. He didn’t seem to notice there were people around, staring at him. He was obviously in that much pain.

 _Finally_ the ambulance arrived, and the EMTs started pushing through the crowd, demanding that people get out of their way. Brian had stopped vomiting, but he was still on his hands and knees rocking back and forth. Justin stood up and backed away so the EMTs could do their job, but Ted and Emmett had to drag Michael away as he screamed Brian’s name over and over.

A question darted through Justin’s mind: how could he be so calm and Michael so distraught? Did Michael love Brian more than he did? The thought was utterly unproductive; Justin threw it into one of his brain-closets and bolted the door. 

The EMTs got Brian to roll over and lie down on his back. He was shaking all over, both hands clenching his shirt just over his sternum. He opened his eyes and looked up at the EMT examining him with an expression on his face that Justin had never seen before.

“Sir, can you hear me?” the EMT asked.

Brian nodded jerkily.

"What is your name?"

"Brian Kinney."

The EMT took his hands. “Squeeze my left hand if it’s Tuesday,” she said. “Or squeeze my right hand if it’s Friday.”

Without hesitation, Brian squeezed her right hand.

“Okay, who is the president? Squeeze my right hand if it’s Bill Clinton, and my left if it’s George W. Bush.”

Brian squeezed her left hand before she even finished speaking.

“Actually,” someone said from the crowd, “it’s Al Gore.”

People twittered, and the EMT’s lips quirked for a moment in a smile. Justin’s did too, but Brian was utterly oblivious that a joke had been made. 

“Can you sit up?” the EMT asked.

Brian shook his head.

“Okay, then we’re going to get you a stretcher. Just lie still.”

The EMT checked Brian’s pulse and covered his mouth and nose with an oxygen mask.

“Do you think you’ve broken any bones?” another EMT asked, rolling the stretcher behind him.

Brian shook his head.

“How about internal injuries?”

Brian nodded vigorous and then moved one of his hands to his lower belly. Justin bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut on the tears that wanted to fall. He glanced at Michael who was sobbing great big gulping sobs even though he had no idea that Brian’s gesture indicated a pregnancy. But Justin would _not_ cry. For the sake of Brian – and their baby – he would _not_ come unglued.

“Have you drunk alcohol and/or done any drugs this evening?”

Brian nodded.

“Do you think you ODed?”

Brian shook his head. 

“How many times have you vomited?”

Brian held up two fingers.

“Was there blood?”

Brian shook his head.

“Okay, we’re going to put you on the stretcher now and take you to the ambulance. Is there someone you want to ride with you?”

Brian pointed at Justin, who breathed a gasp of relief. He looked up and locked eyes with Michael, willing him too _please_ not make a scene. Justin shook his head ever so slightly. Michael could _not_ be the one to accompany Brian to the hospital! The long, tense moment went on for fucking _ever_. When Michael suddenly started trying to struggle out of Emmett’s arms, his eyes filled with anger, fear and hurt, Ted stepped in front of him, blocking Justin and Michael’s twin gazes of animosity. 

“Michael,” Ted said gently. “Brian made a choice. You need to respect that choice. This isn’t the time to feel jealous or hurt. This isn’t about who Brian might or might not love more; this is about Brian and what he needs. Okay?”

Ted hugged Michael from the front while Emmett hugged him from behind, effectively forming a Michael sandwich. Michael sagged with exhaustion and resignation.

“Take care of him,” he said pleadingly as Justin walked past him, following the stretcher.

Justin got in the ambulance and sat down by Brian’s head. When he took Brian’s hand, Brian turned to look at him with a frightened expression. “It’s okay,” Justin whispered.

Brian shook his head and reached up to pull aside the oxygen mask. “No, it’s not,” he said simply, frankly. He put the mask back on and closed his eyes. 

The ambulance was met at the emergency exit by Dr. Bernstein and a solemn-looking assistance. The doctor talked briefly to the EMTs who looked back and forth between him and Brian several times. Then one of them nodded. Dr. Bernstein walked over to the ambulance.

“I’m going to ride with him, Justin,” he said with the unflappable tone of a professional. “You can follow us. My assistant will drive you.”

Justin was instinctively reluctant to leave Brian’s side. During the whole trip to the hospital, he’d felt as though he could hear two hearts beating, both of them labored and uneven. But he knew he had to surrender everything into the hands of the doctor. He was the only one capable of treating Brian, and it was essential he remain by Brian’s side.

The assistant smiled at Justin when Justin got in her car and introduced herself as Heather. They didn’t speak on the way to Dr. Bernstein’s office, but she seemed to sense that the silence was making Justin even more uptight than he already was. She switched on the radio and turned down the volume so that it was little more than background noise. Justin gave her a grateful little smile. He wondered if she knew that Brian was pregnant. He suspected that she did.

When they arrived at the building where Dr. Bernstein’s office was located and got out of the car, Justin was surprised to see Brian getting out of the ambulance himself although with the help of Dr. Bernstein and an EMT who held his hands to assist him. They escorted Brian into the building and on to the elevator, followed closely by Justin and Heather. Justin reached out and laid his hand on Brian’s arm, and Brian gave him a wan smile.

“Hell of a way to spend a Friday night,” he rasped.

Justin returned his wan smile.

The EMT left when they got to Dr. Bernstein's office. Justin took over as Brian’s support while the doctor unlocked the door. When they were all inside, he locked the door again. He led Brian and Justin to the examining table and helped Brian lie down. Brian helped as much as he could, but he was obviously in a lot of pain, and he looked like he might be sick again. When he was lying down, he locked eyes with Dr. Bernstein.

“So,” he said unsteadily. “You’re going to be the one to handle this. I know it seems suspiciously timely, but I still do _not_ believe you that I’m . . . I’m pregnant or anything else remotely as asinine.”

Dr. Bernstein merely nodded. “We don’t need to discuss any causes at the moment,” he said. “We need to address the symptoms.”

Brian glared at him, but he let Heather sit him up and remove his shoes, shirt and jeans.

“Lie back down,” Dr. Bernstein said. “Tell me if anything I do hurts.”

“Everything _already_ hurts, Doc,” Brian said.

“Okay, then tell me if anything I do hurts even more.”

He gently pressed Brian’s chest with his fingers. When Brian didn’t say anything, he moved on to Brian’s stomach. Brian frowned for a moment and then shook his head. The doctor then pressed on Brian’s lower belly, and Brian slapped his hand away. Hard.

“Ow!” he yelled. “Do that again, and I’ll fire your ass!”

Justin bit back a smile.

Doctor Bernstein merely shifted his hand to where Brian’s appendix was located. Brian tensed slightly but otherwise did not react. Same with his other side. Dr. Bernstein stopped poking and prodding and started writing in his medical log.

“I have appendicitis,” Brian said.

“If you had appendicitis,” Dr. Bernstein replied, “you wouldn’t be in agony when I touched the middle of your lower abdomen. You would have been in pain if I touched your right side. You did not indicate you felt undue pain in that location.

Brian frowned. “Do it again,” he said, and Dr. Bernstein complied with his request. Justin could hear the wheels turning in Brian’s mind; he was considering lying.

“You don’t have appendicitis,” Dr. Bernstein said flatly.

“Then I have an ulcer.”

“Have you had blood in your stool?”

Brian made a face and then shook his head.

“Then it’s unlikely that you have an ulcer sufficiently problematic to cause the severe distress that you’re in.”

“I have food poisoning.”

“Do you have diarrhea?”

Brian made another face and shook his head.

“Okay, then I have an internal injury.”

“Have you recently experienced blunt trauma to your abdomen?”

Brian looked again like he was going to lie. Justin bit his lip; he didn’t want to say anything. Brian would be pissed, but also it would undermine the process that was taking place.

Finally Brian shook his head dejectedly, but then he perked up. “I have liver disease,” he said hopefully.

“Heaven knows you _should_ ,” Dr. Bernstein said. “But you just had a check-up last month and blood work done this week; your liver is healthy.” 

“It’s cancer.”

“It’s not cancer.”

Justin suppressed an eye-roll. It said a lot about how freaked out Brian was over the prospect that he might be pregnant that he wished he had liver disease and even cancer instead.

“It’s kidney stones.”

“If it was kidney stones, you’d have already been in discomfort that would've gradually increased. You'd also have increasing difficulty urinating. Was this evening the first time you’ve experience pain in the vicinity of your kidneys?”

Brian closed his eyes in defeat and nodded.

“Then I’ve damaged my colon from too much fucking,” he said.

“I thought you didn’t allow yourself to be penetrated,” Dr. Bernstein said.

Brian perked up. “Actually, I do,” he said enthusiastically. “Justin here has fucked me twice, and you should see how big his dick is. Justin, show the Doc your dick. Oh, and I forgot to mention the anal beads. I _love_ to have anal beads shoved up my ass as far as anatomically possible. My Thai Jelly beads are almost a foot long! Then there are the vibrators and dildos. I can easily take thirteen inches. I even have a dildo called The Destroyer. It’s got a suction cup so I can stick it to the side of the shower and fuck myself, and believe me, I’m not afraid to take it all. One of my vibrators has the circumference of a soda can. . . . Or wait! I may have punctured my bladder as well! I sound like a fiend. I even sound with a vibrating butt plug in my ass. The largest sound I can take right now is the width of a pencil, but I’m practicing with a sound with the circumference of a Sharpie pen. It comes with an explicit warning about the possibility of serious bladder injuries . . .”

Brian had gotten so pepped up by his listing of his sex toys and their usages that he was actually sitting up and gesturing. Justin stared at him with an open mouth. He could _not believe_ Brian was revealing all these things even if it was to a doctor! Holy shit! Justin didn’t think Brian was lying because he’d witnessed – and even used himself – most of the toys. (It was a miracle that Brian was so tight! He must do hours of anal strengthening exercises every day!) Again, it astounded Justin that Brian would rather reveal this intensely private (even disturbing) aspect of his life rather than even entertain the prospect of being pregnant!

Amazingly, Dr. Bernstein looked neither condemnatory nor fazed in any way. He merely wrote down more stuff in his medical log. When he was done, he looked at Brian, his gaze steady and stern.

“I agreed we wouldn’t talk about the fact that you are pregnant . . .”

Brian rolled his eyes and collapsed back onto the examining table with an exasperated sigh.

“. . . but you must know that some of the practices you just described to me could very well cause a miscarriage.”

Brian sat up again. 

“A miscarriage?” he said.

“Yes,” the Doctor replied. “In fact the risk is quite high.”

“So, assuming I _am_ pregnant, which I’m _not_ , I could induce a miscarriage by getting Justin here to shove gigantic dildos up my ass and fuck me with them till I scream?”

“It’s quite possible. I would be especially concerned about the use of vibrators. Your placenta is extremely delicate right now. In fact your pain this evening might derive from a rupture or perforation. I’ll need to examine you further to ascertain whether that, in fact, has occurred.”

“And sounding?” Brian asked. “That could really fuck things up too, right?”

“Right.”

“What if I drown myself in whiskey, take coke, E, amyl nitrate, Valium, Oxycontin . . . fuck, what if I did crystal while getting fisted by a fucking bodybuilder? Would that cause a miscarriage?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” said Dr. Bernstein. “Scientists don’t talk in terms of absolutes. But I would say that you would probably lose your baby – if not lose your own life in the process. And if you didn’t miscarry and decided to continue with the pregnancy without changing your lifestyle, there’s a significant likelihood that your baby’s health, growth and mental capacity would be affected catastrophically.”

Failure to Thrive.

Justin must’ve said the words out loud because all three people in the room turned to look at him.

“That’s precisely correct,” Dr. Bernstein said.

Justin turned to Brian. “You CAN’T do this!” he shouted. “You CAN’T ruin a human being’s life! I won’t let you!”

“I wouldn’t be ruining anyone’s fucking life,” Brian shouted back, “if I got rid of this fucking . . . thing inside me, which I’m still not entertaining the thought that I actually have! I don’t want a fucking kid, Justin! How many _fucking_ times have I told you! I HATE kids . . . !”

“Not Gus!” Justin shouted back. “You even told me you love him!”

“Because. He’s. Mine!!”

Silence. Perfect, pristine silence.

“So would this baby be,” Justin said softly, gently, consolingly. “You’d carry it yourself, not someone else. You’d nurture and protect it with your body. This is a miracle, Brian, not a curse . . .”

If looks could kill, Justin would collapse to the floor, dead on impact.

“I don’t want to be pregnant,” Brian said venomously. “I do not want to have a baby. I will do everything in my power to rid myself of the little fucker.”

Justin grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a stack of empty plastic, urine-sample cups, and threw them straight at Brian’s head. When Brian was hit and blood slowly filled a cut on the bridge of his nose, Brian said two words.

“Get out.”

He didn’t shout them; he didn’t have to. The serious calm in his voice spoke louder and clearer than any shouted words ever could.

Justin looked at Dr. Bernstein and then at Heather. Both of them were looking down at their feet. Wasn’t anyone going to come to his rescue? To the baby's? This was his baby too! Brian did NOT have a right to kill it – especially in such a shocking, evil way. He turned to look at Brian, pleading with him. But Brian clearly had said everything he was going to say.

Justin turned and walked in a numb trance to the door. Just as he stepped into the hall, he heard Dr. Bernstein tell Brian with his serene professionalism that Brian had every right to end the pregnancy and that there was absolutely no need to induce a miscarriage. It could be done quickly and safely right there in the office.

Justin stepped into the elevator before he could hear Brian’s response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be too angry at the either of the boys. This is an intensely emotional experience that neither had ever imagined going through. Ugliness comes to the surface in moments such as this.


	5. Gus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian finally acknowledges he's pregnant, and everything's okay, right? Of course not. This is Brian we're talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though we're moving ahead, this chapter, like the last one, contains some potentially disturbing subjects, including abortion. If you think you should avoid it, follow your gut instincts. Again, you don't need to read this chapter (except the very last paragraph) to understand the story. Just remember the title of the story: "From the Brink of Spring to the Edge of Winter." March to November. Do the math ;)
> 
> Also, as with the last chapter, you cannot identify my personal feelings from reading the story. I'm trying to present a number of different viewpoints, but I'm not saying which is "right" or "wrong."

As she always did when he showed up at her apartment at ungodly hours of the night (or morning), Daphne merely opened the door, took his hand, led him to her room, pulled back the blankets, turned off the light and got into bed. He stripped to undies and a t-shirt (it didn’t matter if he wasn’t wearing one; he kept a few at her place for nights like this) and crawled into bed beside her.

“Want to talk?” she asked into the darkness as they both lay on their backs, elbows touching, staring up at the glowing star stickers someone had left on the ceiling when they moved.

God, did he ever! But he remained silent. He had to respect Brian’s privacy. Right? Brian would never forgive him . . . .

. . . . but would Justin ever forgive _himself_ if he just gave up? Yes, it was Brian’s body, and he had the right to decide whether to carry and give birth to a baby, but somewhere in the mix, shouldn’t Justin at least be able to plead his case – and the case of their child? And that was in the case of an abortion. But an abortion wasn’t the only thing at stake. What if Brian decided _not_ to terminate his pregnancy but refused to change his lifestyle? Justin owed his child an inherent human right to be born free of its parents’ addictions and destructive behavior. Right?

“The gears in your head are grinding so loudly that you’re probably keeping my roommate up,” Daphne said. “Even if I don’t like her, we should let her get some sleep. She’s even bitchier than usual when she’s had a bad night. Do you want to try a hypothetical?”

A hypothetical was the way they sometimes talked about difficult things without actually naming names or revealing incriminating details.

Justin took a deep breath and then another. “Say there’s a woman,” he said slowly, uncertainly, “and she conceived a baby about three weeks ago. And say you’re the guy who’d impregnated her . . .”

He heard Daphne gasp, but he kept going. “Say the woman doesn’t actually believe she’s pregnant because she doesn’t want to be, and because she doesn’t believe it, she keeps drinking and smoking and doing drugs. Say you, the father, believe that she is, in fact, pregnant, and you’re terrified that the baby is being slowly poisoned. And say, too, that if the woman were to actually believe she’s pregnant, she’d get an abortion without letting you have a say – and maybe even induce the miscarriage herself by doing terrible things to her body. What would you do? Would you try to stop her? Do you have any right at all to have a say in whether she chooses to abort, and if she doesn’t, do you have some kind of right to make sure she doesn’t harm the baby during her pregnancy by drinking and using drugs? Can you get a legal injunction of some kind?”

Daphne was quiet for longer than Justin believed necessary even given the weighty subject matter.

“Does this have anything to do with what you said earlier when you were talking about Brian being the father of your child? Have you guys hired a surrogate mother to carry either yours or Brian’s child?”

Perfect!!!

“Add that to the hypothetical,” he said. Did he hear her sigh with relief? Had she’d worried that he’d slept with some girl and got her pregnant and was upset? He didn’t want to know, and he was pretty sure she wouldn’t want to discuss it.

“Well,” she said slowly. “I’m not a lawyer, so I don’t know if you can get some kind of restraining order or something. But I have taken a class concerning neonatal health, and the evidence is pretty clear that doing stuff like drinking and smoking a lot and taking drugs during a pregnancy can be harmful to the baby . . .”

“Yeah,” Justin replied. “I did the google searches. What I want to know is whether a father has any kind of right to try to stop the mother of his child from doing things that might kill it or cause it to be born with possibly zillions of health and cognitive problems?”

“God,” Daphne said. “Why the hell did you guys choose an alcoholic druggie to carry your child? What were you guys thinking? Or did you not know ahead of time that she was so fucked up?”

“This is still a hypothetical, Daph. Pretend Brian and I didn’t know, and by the way, I’m not saying your guess about a surrogate is even correct. Don’t forget we’re being ‘what-if’ about all of this.”

Another long silence. The only things Justin could hear were the ticking of Daphne’s bedside clock and the hum of the fridge in the cramped, little kitchen.

“Daph?”

She sighed into the dark. After another couple minutes, she started talking.

“There’s something I’ve never told you about,” she said. “And don’t be pissed off that I haven’t. It’s not like it’s affected my life or anything, so it’s not like this is, like, a huge, big, defining thing for me, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. “And it goes without saying that this stays between the two of us. I won’t even tell Brian.”

“I know that,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “Anyway, so here’s the story. My mom has a sister who lives in Baltimore, and she has two daughters. I know you already know that, but what you don’t know is that one of her daughters – my cousin, Severina – is a drug addict and an alcoholic. She has been since she was in high school. My aunt has tried _everything_ to help her. She’ll go to rehab and be sober for a few months, but then something stressful will happen, and she’ll fall back to her old coping mechanisms. It’s heartbreaking on so many levels; she’s smart and funny. She got into the University of Maryland but dropped out the middle of her sophomore year. She’s since studied hair and make-up and is a licensed beautician. She’s really good, but she can’t hold on to a job because of the drugs and drinking. It’s broken my aunt’s heart . . .”

“Let me guess,” he said. “She got pregnant.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Actually, she got pregnant a couple times and had abortions. But this last one she decided she wanted to keep. She was working at the time, and the father was this guy she’d been living with for a while, and he was really nice and supportive of her attempts to get clean. Anyway, things fell apart almost immediately. The salon she was working for went out of business, and her boyfriend’s mother came down with an inoperable kind of cancer. He went to live with and take care of her in St. Louis. Severina would’ve gone with him except she wanted to stay near her mother and sister until she had the baby.”

Justin sighed. “I can see where this is going,” he said sadly.

“Yup. She started drinking again. At first it was just a little, but it kept increasing to the point she was regularly blacking-out. And then the drugs followed . . .”

“What kinds of drugs?”

“A lot of different things; basically whatever she could get her hands on. Pot, coke, pills. Everyone tried to intervene in many different ways. Some people pleaded with her; some people offered to pay for rehab; others tried to make her feel guilty. Nothing worked.”

Daphne fell silent again. He could hear her sniffling.

“You don’t have to go on,” he said.

She took a deep breath. “No, I do,” she said. “I haven’t talked about this with anyone. It’s hush-hush because . . . because it was so awful.”

Justin’s stomach dropped. Did he really want to hear this? He wasn’t sure, but he encouraged her to continue anyway.

Daphne sat up and reached for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand and blew her nose. She didn’t lie back down and instead leaned against the headboard. Justin sat up and joined her, not releasing her hand.

“Does this story have a happy ending?” he asked although he was pretty sure that it didn’t.

Daphne shook her head. “Nope,” she said with a sigh. “Actually, the ending couldn’t have been worse. Severina’s boyfriend heard about what was going on, and he returned to Baltimore. Everyone was thrilled and hoped his presence would help Severina to dry out. God, were we wrong. Instead of helping her, he locked her in a room with boarded up windows. There was nothing but a bed in the room and bucket for her to pee in. He brought her all her meals, and they were large and healthy, probably because of the baby. That’s all he really cared about – the baby. She pleaded with him to let her out, but he refused, saying that if he did, she’d go back to drinking and drugging. He didn’t want his baby harmed by her behavior . . .”

“. . . was that actually such a bad thing?” Justin interrupted. “I mean this was his child too. How could he just sit around doing nothing while she slowly poisoned it?”

Daphne didn’t reply for a long time, and when she started talking again, it was without answering his question; she merely continued with her story.

“It got to a point where Severina no longer wanted to continue with the pregnancy. She wasn’t so far along that it would be illegal to get an abortion. She just felt that she couldn’t bring a baby into the life she was living. Even if she was released, she suspected she wouldn’t be able to stay sober after everything that’d happened, and she also knew she didn’t want to bring a baby into the world whose father was capable of doing the things he’d done. But what could she do? Her boyfriend wouldn’t let her out for fear she’d use drugs; he definitely wouldn’t let her out if he thought she wanted to get an abortion.”

“Oh, shit,” Justin breathed. “Fuck. Did she try to induce a miscarriage or something?”

“She tried, but she failed. She punched herself in the stomach and tried starving herself, but there was no place to hide her uneaten meals. Nothing worked. Anyway, I wouldn’t go on and on about that. It’s too upsetting.”

“What happened?” Justin asked. “Please tell me that despite all odds, she and the baby survived and both are healthy and happy.”

He hadn’t known what to expect, but he certainly hadn’t expected Daphne to leap out of bed, cross the room and start yelling at him, the box of Kleenex still clutched in her hand.

“No, of course not!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “That’s not how life works out, Jus!”

“It worked out okay for me. I'm still alive,” he said quietly. “Sometimes things _do_ turn out okay, but I’m guessing they didn’t for Severina.”

Daphne blew her nose and went to the window. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . . this raises so many questions I don’t have answers to . . . and don’t know if I ever will. So, you wanted to know the end. The end is that the baby died, and Severina’s back on the streets. She’s basically beyond hope now.”

“What . . . what happened to the baby?” Justin asked.

Daphne shrugged. “No one knows. He had serious heart problems, and something was wrong with his lungs. I can’t remember. Maybe he died from natural causes . . . and maybe he didn’t. He was premature and very small. Labor and birth didn’t take long. It all happened between dinner and breakfast. When her boyfriend came to deliver her breakfast, he found Severina huddled in a corner, holding the dead baby. Apparently, he had a total breakdown and had himself admitted to a psychiatric hospital. We later heard that he did it because he was afraid he might kill Severina. He was still in the hospital when Severina moved to New York. She’s called my aunt a few times, but my aunt has never seen her again. This all happened three years ago.”

Daphne turned to rest her forehead against the glass of the window. It was clear she was done talking. What, Justin thought, was the moral of Severina’s story? Did one even exist? Who was right, and who was wrong? Yes, the boyfriend acted in an extreme way, but it was his baby Severina was carrying, and she didn’t seem to care that she was killing it by getting high all the time.

“Did I answer your hypothetical?” she asked wearily.

Justin looked down and picked at a loose piece of yarn in her afghan. “No,” he said after a minute. “In fact it raises even more questions than I already had.”

Daphne came back to the bed and sat down beside him. “Maybe that’s the whole point,” she said after a minute. “Maybe there are no answers . . . but that doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions.”

“What are your opinions?” he asked.

She smacked his hand. “Stop pulling my afghan apart.” He laughed a little, exhausted laugh. “My opinion,” she continued, “is that it comes down in the end to a woman’s right to choose whether or not to have a baby. It’s not her boyfriend’s decision – or her parents’ or anyone else’s. It’s her body, and her life. End of discussion.”

Now it was Justin’s turn to be angry. “So, that’s it? Okay, I guess I understand why it’s a woman’s right to have an abortion, but what if she decides _not_ to have one, but she continues drinking and drugging anyway? Does the father have the right to intervene somehow to save his kid?”

“And do what exactly? Severina’s boyfriend intervened by imprisoning her.”

“What about the courts? Could he have gotten some kind of injunction? Shouldn’t the law have anything to say?”

She didn’t even pause before she answered. “No, even if the imprisonment is safe and ‘benign,’ it’s still imprisonment. Jus, you can try to reason with the mother; you can do everything you possibly can to help her dry out. But that’s it. I guess you could always back out of the contract though if you knew you couldn’t deal with a special needs child, assuming the child will actually have special needs. Maybe it won’t, but from what you’ve told me, I’d say it’s definitely possible, if not likely. Like I said, I’m not a lawyer, so obviously I don’t know if you can back out of the contract, but it seems to me you guys should be able to.”

 _Back out of the contract_. Justin laughed ruefully. Even if he broke up with Brian, it wouldn’t change the fact that Brian was going to do _something_ with their baby: abort it, carry it without changing his lifestyle, or carry it clean and sober (or at least try to) and hope the stuff he’s already done while pregnant didn’t harm the baby.

Daphne took his hand and squeezed it, jolting Justin out of his thoughts. “I need to go to sleep now,” she said. “Tomorrow’s my hell day. I have to work from eight to four.”

She slid down under the covers, and Justin joined her. He’d thought there was no way he’d be able to sleep but somehow he did, which was a very good thing. He suspected he’d need to have a clear head in the morning, no matter what happened.

 

Brian was not at the loft. Nor was he at the diner. No one had seen or heard from him since he’d collapsed in front of Woody’s the night before. 

The boys were at the diner when Justin stopped by in his search and understandably peppered him with questions. He told them that Brian was treated by his personal physician, but that he’d asked Justin to leave. He told them that by the time he left, Brian seemed to feel a lot better. He was able to sit up and have an animated discussion with the doctor. They asked if he knew what was going on and where Brian was that morning. When Justin answered both questions in the negative, he wasn’t lying.

“Maybe he’s at work,” Michael said. “I know he’s feeling a little overloaded at the moment. I’ll go check.”

Justin interrupted him. “I really don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said. “Brian was in a REALLY bad mood when I last saw him.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Michael replied. “He scared the shit out of us, and we deserve some kind of explanation for what happened and an assurance that he’s okay now.”

Goddamn it! Michael could be unbelievable sometimes! Both he and Brian thought they were entitled to crawl up each other’s ass with a microscope any old time they thought they deserved to know something. How either of them put up with the situation, Justin would never know . . .

. . . but then he was struck by an idea.

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “I have my mom’s car.” Having Michael with him made it at least slightly less likely that Brian would go postal on him.

Michael glared at him, but it was obvious that the offer of a nice, warm, dry car in the shittiest weather imaginable was very tempting.

“Okay,” he said grudgingly.

Justin smiled at him in a way that he hoped conveyed his gratitude, but Michael’s glare didn’t fade even a little bit. He walked out of the diner, and Justin followed him with a quick turn to wave at Ted and Emmett. Both of them fondly rolled their eyes about Michael, and Justin gave them the biggest smile he was capable of.

 

As they drove into the parking garage for Brian’s office building, they found Brian walking out. To say that he was not psyched to see them was probably the understatement of the century. He sucked in his upper lip, obviously trying to stop himself before he started spewing invectives at them.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” he snapped.

“What do you think, asshole?” Michael said. “We wanted to find out how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing just fine and dandy,” Brian replied. “Now if you’ll _both_ excuse me, I’m off to the baths.”

He gave Justin a mean, nasty look. _Go ahead_ , it said. _Try and stop me_.

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” he said. “Don’t look for me at Woody’s or Babylon tonight . . .”

Justin’s heart suddenly soared. Was it true? Was Brian changing his ways, even though he was pretending not to? That would be _so_ like him . . .

“Why not?” Michael asked, frowning with suspicion.

Brian smiled one of his unpleasant smiles. “Because,” he said. “I’ve been invited to a party.”

“A party?” Michael said. “Can I come?”

“Were you invited?”

“Well, no. I just figured that I could be your ‘plus one.’”

“Well, you figured wrong,” Brian said.

“Why?” Michael yelled. “Because you’re taking _him_?” He pointed at Justin with a look that suggested Justin was a giant, walking slug with leprosy. 

Brian bit his upper lip again. Justin could tell he was doing his best not to laugh.

“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” he said, throwing the arm that wasn’t carrying his coat over Michael’s shoulders. “Jealousy doesn’t become you. It gives you the look of a constipated gnome.”

Justin couldn’t help it. He laughed, and watched as Brian’s beautiful eyes betrayed his amusement.

 _Maybe our baby will have those same expressive eyes,_ Justin thought. _Just like Gus’s except their child would have hazel eyes instead of brown . . ._

Fuck!!! Why was he thinking about stuff like that? Things were already difficult enough without trying to picture the baby Brian was carrying . . .

. . . or at least he might be. What if he’d gotten an abortion! Would Brian even bother to tell him? And if so, when?

“What’s going on at the party?” he asked, suddenly desperately needing to know. The answer might tell him more than it seemed like it could on the surface.

Brian’s unpleasant smile returned, but this time it was accompanied by an air of indifference.

“Well, hmmm, let me see. What is likely to go on at the party? My guess is there will be a lot of drinking of ridiculously expensive wine; the snorting of the finest coke north of the border – no doubt pure and uncut. I can also imagine there will be some excellent scotch and brandy and any number of other tasty hard liquors. Oh, and perhaps there might even be some pharmaceutical grade crystal . . .”

“Crystal!!” Michael shouted. “No. Fucking. Way! What the _fuck_ , Brian . . .?!”

“. . . oh and don’t forget the sex. I know some of the guys from the baths; they’re sexual athletes – almost as good as me, which is, as you know,” he winked at Justin, “saying _a lot_. A few are 'experts in their field.' There’s one guy in particular who excels at the art of breath play. He’s choked me a couple times, and there’s no feeling like it in the world. Although, that said, I’ve known a few guys whose hearts had stopped and had to recieve CPR. But that’s rare, so don’t you two worry your pretty little heads about it happening to me. Besides, I don’t want anyone breathing into my lungs. Gross.”

While Michael went bat-shit and started stomping around yelling and frothing at the mouth, Justin simply stood there, his eyes locked on Brian’s. At that moment, he hated Brian more than he’d ever hated anyone – including Chris Hobbs. How fitting that they were in a parking garage!

“So,” Justin said in a low voice that only barely disguised his fury. “You didn’t have an abortion. If you had, you wouldn’t need to go through all of this fucking bullshit. You’d just tell me with a shrug and some bullshit about the baby having been nothing but a bladder stone and that the whole pregnancy thing was a load of shit from the beginning.”

Brian’s glare turned downright murderous. “How many _fucking_ times do I have to tell you that I am NOT fucking _pregnant_?” he hissed. “What will get the message through your stubborn fucking head? Do I have to buy a plane to write it in the sky?”

Justin crossed his arms. “Don’t waste your money,” he said. “Even if you bought a blimp and wrote ‘I’m not preggers’ on it, I still wouldn’t believe you. Last night was _not_ a freak, random occurrence, and you know what, Brian, I think you know, and you’re scared shitless, and you don’t know what you want to do, so you’re going to just do nothing, except your usual partying, and hope the ‘problem’ fixes itself. But ask yourself: is that what you really want? And if you _do_ want to end your pregnancy, then do it like a man and just get a fucking abortion – don’t torture the baby and yourself. For fuck sake, Brian! Don’t you feel _anything_ for our baby? Anything except hatred?”

Brian stood there staring at him with an unreadable, but obviously wild, expression. They stood like that for what felt like forever.

“Come on, Brian,” Justin said gently, his voice shaking. “You know it’s true. Your body is telling you it’s true. And you’re fucking terrified . . .”

He watched Brian’s Adam’s apple bob several times as he tried to swallow what very well might be a lump of overwhelming emotion.

“Okay,” he said in a hoarse whisper, his voice shaking just as much as Justin’s. “Okay, you’re right. I’m pregnant.”

Justin gasped. Of course, he already knew it, but to hear Brian admit it . . . he wanted to throw his arms around Brian’s neck and kiss his face all over and tell him that it’s alright, that Justin would _make_ it alright come hell or high water.

“Everything tells me it’s true,” Brian continued. “Even my fucking tits are sore. There, are you happy now? Because that’s what you want, don’t you? But what about what _I_ want? Even fucking Bernstein is trying to convince me not to have an abortion – and why? So that he can publish a paper that’ll be announced on the cover of _Nature_. Fuck, he might even win the fucking Nobel Prize. He wants to be famous. He doesn’t give a shit about me . . . and neither do you. Don’t think I’m a fucking idiot, Justin. You’ve been harassing me about having a damn kid practically since the first time we met! You’re obsessed with it! If you could lock me up to force me to have this . . . this thing, then you would and don’t think for a second that I don’t know that!”

Justin's breath caught in his lungs. He felt every drop of blood drain from his face. He clutched at his collar; it felt too tight, like it was going to strangle him. Oh, God! Of _all_ the many awful things Brian could’ve said, that was by far the worst!

Brian’s smiled a rueful smile that said loud and clear that he knew he was right.

“Gotcha,” he said, his voice cruel. “Now if you’ll please excuse me, I’m going to the baths, and then I’m going to the sex party. I’ve heard the crystal was cooked by a professor of chemistry. I’ve always been wary of the shit, mostly because the people who make it are fucking idiots I wouldn’t even trust to shine my shoes. But this is different. This is high-grade, top-notch shit. Junior’s going to be born with a taste for the high life.”

Justin didn’t flinch. He kept staring straight into Brian’s eyes. “You’re going to the party,” he said in a clear, cold voice that sounded even to himself like it belonged to a man twice his age, “over my dead body.”

Brian inhaled a shaky breath and then he leaned forward. “ _Fuck you_ ", he hissed in Justin’s face so vehemently and so close, that Justin got spittle on his cheeks. "Fuck both you and Bernstein. It’s my body, and I’ll destroy it if I want to . . .”

That was when they both realized Michael was standing close enough to hear what they were saying. He was crying. “Don’t do it, Brian,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t know why you seem intent on killing yourself, but whatever it is, it’s not worth it.” 

Brian looked back and forth between Justin and Michael, a look of incredulity on his face. “You don’t understand; neither of you do! You have _no_ right to tell me what I can and cannot do. If I want to fuck myself up . . . hell, even if I want to kill myself, you cannot stop me! You _will_ not stop me. Zygote or no zygote!" He started walking quickly to the Jeep.

“Brian!” Michael screamed and started to run after the Jeep like a maniac as Brian peeled out of the garage and into the busy traffic of Main Street. But it was too late.

Michael came running back to Justin. “What are you standing around for?” he yelled. “We have to go after him!” Justin neither moved nor spoke; Michael waved his hand in front of Justin’s eyes. “Hello! Did you hear me? We have to . . .”

“Yes, I heard you,” Justin snapped. He rubbed his face roughly with his hands hoping the sensation would stop the tears, which, if not forestalled, would start and never stop. “What do you want me to do, Michael? Shoot at the Jeep with my super-secret missiles disguised as headlights?”

Michael looked like his head was going to pop off. “You’re joking about this!” he yelled. “What is wrong with you . . . and what the hell is a ‘zygote’?”

Under any other circumstances, Justin would’ve died laughing. Instead he just looked at Michael and told him to get in the car. Michael looked like he was going to protest and get his undies all in a twist over Justin bossing him around, but there must’ve been something in Justin’s eyes that stopped him.

“Where are we going?” Michael asked. “We don’t even know where this fucking party is taking place or who’s hosting it.”

“ _We_ aren’t going anywhere,” Justin replied. “I’m dropping you off at the diner.”

“And where are _you_ going?” Michael asked.

Justin knew the answer. It’d occurred to him as he’d watched Brian drive away, but he wasn’t taking Michael with him. Michael was not a calming presence. In fact, he was the match to a puddle of gasoline. Anything bad that was happening was sure to get worse when he was around – especially if it involved Brian in anyway.

“I’m going to Daphne's,” he lied.

“And that’s it? I thought you loved him!”

If they weren’t stopped at a light, Justin would’ve shoved Michael out the door while it was moving. Instead he shoved Michael out of the still car.

“What the hell?” Michael yelled. “How am I supposed to get home?”

“There’s something called a bus,” Justin replied. "It’s big and has lots of seats and it takes you places. Often it has signs on it advertising personal injury law firms.” He rolled up the window. Michael had crossed a line, and Michael knew it. Justin waved at him and went through the intersection as soon as the light turned green.

He needed to see Gus. What would happen when he did, he didn’t yet know. All he knew is that he had to hold Gus in his arms, cup his little head and smell his bubble-bath scent. He would probably never get to hold his own child like that, and the loss was an ache in his guts – and, yes, it was a loss. Even though he’d only known Brian was pregnant for a day, he’d already fallen in love with their baby. If only Brian had too . . . .

It was a good thing he knew how to get to Linds and Mel’s house on autopilot because he was having an out-of-body experience, and not in a good, enlightening kind of way. In fact, he felt nauseous and wondered if his floated self could barf on his driving self's head. Brian had admitted that he’s pregnant. That was huge! But it also made his decision to go on a colossal, dangerous bender even more disturbing. What the fuck was going on in Brian’s head? He was clearly furious, but at whom exactly? Justin? Himself? Both of them? . . . the poor, innocent fetus?

It took Justin a moment to realize that the ambulance and police car with their careening lights and crackling walkie-talkies were parked in front of Lindsay and Mel’s house. He slammed on his breaks and parked the car right there, blocking a neighbor’s driveway. He didn’t care. Whatever was happening was clearly not good. He ran down the sidewalk. When an officer tried to stop him from going any closer, he heard Mel tell the man it was okay. Justin, she said, was family. 

It was hard to make sense of what was going on. There were so many people milling around in the little yard, and two women were crying almost hysterically. One was Lindsay and the other was a round, middle-aged woman he’d never seen before. Gus was nowhere to be seen, but then Justin realized there were EMTs on the porch leaning over a stretcher.

Gus. Something was wrong with Gus.

He grabbed Lindsay by the shoulders and shook her.

“What’s going on?” he cried.

But Lindsay couldn’t speak. He turned to Mel whose face was pale and streaked with tears.

“Is he alright?” he asked. “ _Please_ say yes.”

“Where’s Brian?” Lindsay shrieked. “I need Brian! Where is he? Justin, _where is he_?”

Obviously, in her distress, Lindsay had forgotten what cell phones were for and how to use them. Justin pulled his out of his pocket. Unsurprisingly, Brian didn’t answer, but Justin left a message, and then he texted in capital letters just two words: “GUS HOSPITAL.”

Lindsay rode in the ambulance, and Justin drove Mel to the hospital. The police remained at the house. They appeared to be asking the sobbing woman questions.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” Mel said, her voice shaking with tears. “There’s no way I’d have been able to drive myself.”

“What happened?” Justin asked. “ _Please_ tell me. I need to know.”

Mel took a deep breath, obviously trying to pull herself together. “We were out,” she said. “Mrs. Beazley was taking care of Gus – she’s the babysitter. We’ve only used her a couple of times. Anyway, Linds and I got home to find her putting Gus into a sink full of water and ice cubes, and Gus . . .” she started sobbing again.

“Gus was burned somehow,” Justin finished the sentence for her. She nodded.

“It was horrible,” she said. “His legs and bottom were red and blistery. We called 911, and it took forever for the motherfucking ambulance to arrive! I’m going to look into filing a law suit . . .”

Justin broke in again. He didn’t give a shit about law suits at the moment. “Is he going to be okay?” he asked. There was desperation in his voice.

“They say so,” she said. “Apparently, it’s not all that bad, but, oh Justin, the way the poor little guy was screaming and crying! I’ll never get it out of my head as long as I live! And I’ll never forgive myself if . . .”

“Don’t go there,” Justin said, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “Stay here in the present. Gus – and Linds – need you here.”

She squeezed his hand back. “Do you think Brian will come?” she asked after a couple tearful minutes.

Justin squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. Brian. For all Justin knew he was already drowned in booze with a silver spoon shoved up his nose.

“I don’t know,” he replied hoarsely.

“Fucking asshole,” Mel snapped angrily, but then she turned her head to look out the window. Bitching about Brian was not going to make anything better, and she knew it.

When they got to the children’s hospital, Justin drove right up to the emergency entrance and let Mel out. She didn’t even close the door before she went running into the building. Justin had to lean over and do it himself – not that he was unsympathetic; he would’ve done the same thing if he wasn’t the driver.

It took forever to find a parking spot. When he finally did, he slammed the shift into park, jumped out and started running before he could even process the need to lock the car. Fuck it. There was nothing in there worth stealing anyway. He went charging into the hospital, and then he heard it. Brian’s voice.

“Where the hell is my son!” Brian yelled. “I’m his father! Where is he? I have a right to be with him! I’m his _father_ for fuck sake!”

Justin had slowed down when he walked through the emergency room doors, but as soon as he heard Brian, he broke into a trot, half aware of an odd sensation in his stomach – it was as though there was a rope tied to something inside of him and someone or something was tugging on the other end, pulling him along, making it impossible for him to stop even if he wanted to. It was an instinct so deep and primal that he almost didn’t notice it at all. But what he _did_ know is that he had to get to Brian and try to calm him down – to protect him. For a moment, he even forgot about Gus!

“Brian!” he cried as he entered the waiting room. There was Mel and Lindsay, but he only had eyes for Brian, who was arguing passionately with some poor, hapless nurse. He went straight to Brian’s side. Brian turned to him, his eyes wild.

“They won’t let me go in!” he said, looking at Justin imploringly as though Justin could help him somehow.

“Sir, your son is being treated right now,” the nurse said. “No one can go in there except for staff. As soon as his treatment is complete, you and his mothers can see him.”

“But he needs me _now_ ,” Brian said. “I _know_ he does.” He looked around for Lindsay, and they locked eyes – Gus’s parents, needing to be with their child even if they couldn’t do anything more than comfort him and assure him that he wasn’t alone, that his mommy and daddy were there with him. Justin watched Mel look back and forth between the two, her heart obviously breaking. Her pain was so evident that he felt it in his own heart as though it was partly his too. She could take care for Gus; she could be his day-to-day mom every day as long as she lived and breathed, but Lindsay’s deepest, most instinctive connection when it came to Gus was Brian, and it would always be that way. Mel was Lindsay’s wife and Gus was her son too, but at moments like this, nature took over. Mel was Gus’s mother, but only through paper. Lindsay and Brian’s connection to him was through the blood that pumped through their son’s veins.

Brian ran his fingers through his hair and started pacing.

“What the fuck happened?” he shouted at poor Mel, and of course, she shouted back.

“What the fuck do you care? You’re just a fucking sperm-donor! You’re not his father! You’re nothing!”

Brian reeled backwards. He looked shocked and deeply wounded.

“Mel,” Lindsay said pleadingly. “Please! Not now!” 

Mel turned away and started walking toward the doors. _Please_ , Justin thought. _Don’t go. Gus needs ALL his parents right now_.

“She’s going out for a cigarette,” Brian said, shaking off his temper. “I gave her one earlier, trying to get her to shut the fuck up. Hopefully it mellows her out; she’s being a total cunt.”

Justin gave him a wan smile. Brian and Mel’s relationship was more complicated than it seemed on the surface. How could it be otherwise? Mel was one of the mothers of Brian’s son, and Brian was her son’s father. It’s the kind of connection that _defines_ the word “complicated.”

Brian slumped against a wall. He looked utterly exhausted. Justin felt someone or something tug again on that invisible rope he’d felt earlier.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Justin pointed to an empty chair. He made his words sound as flippant as possible so Brian wouldn’t see the concern behind them and freak out.

“Yeah,” Brian said hazily. “Sit down.” He walked over to the seat and dropped into it with a sigh. Now that things had calmed a down a little bit; Justin could take a good look at him. He had his head tipped back against the wall, and his eyes were closed. Under his coat, he was dressed in a sweat shirt and sweat pants . . . 

Justin’s breath caught.

“You were on the way to the gym,” he said.

Brian lifted his head and looked at him. They held each other’s eyes. Neither blinked.

“Yeah, I was,” Brian said after a moment. He didn’t look away.

Justin swallowed as he started to connect the dots. “You weren’t going to the baths.”

Brian didn’t answer him, and he didn’t look away.

“You never even planned to,” Justin continued.

Brian still didn’t respond, and his expression gave nothing away.

“And there’s no party, is there.” Justin said. “You made that up.”

Brian didn’t blink. He didn’t nod. He didn’t move in any way, but Justin _knew_ that he was right. There was no party. He almost collapsed with relief . . .

. . . but then he realized: even if there was no party, Brian still might be intending to do something that would hurt him . . . and the baby.

“Please,” Justin whispered. “Please don’t, Brian.”

Brian looked aside as though Justin had slapped him. Not giving a shit what anyone thought, Justin dropped on his knees and took Brian’s hands in his – those strong, masculine hands, the same hands that Justin had watched cradle Gus’s fragile head the night he was born.

“Please,” Justin said again. “If you want to get an abortion, I’ll understand and support you, but please don’t do something that’ll put your life on the line just because you think you should punish yourself for wanting to have an abortion at all. You’re not cruel; you’re just afraid.”

God, it was like putting his head in the jaws of a lion! Telling Brian Kinney he’s afraid?! Until Justin actually said it, he couldn’t even imagine _thinking_ it, let alone speak it!

Brian didn’t reply. He remained with his head turned aside, looking out the window.

“I’ll take care of you,” Justin said fiercely. “You won’t be doing this alone.”

Brian snorted and looked back at Justin. “Really? Are you going to be carrying this baby? Are you going to have your abdomen slit open from sternum to dick? And yes, it’s true. Bernstein and I had a nice, long, fucking talk after you left. A thousand things can go wrong, and at least half of them could kill us both.” He gestured to his chest and then, hesitantly, to his belly. “Are you going to be vomiting for weeks if not months on end? Is your back going to ache? Are you going to have gas and hemorrhoids and whatever the fuck else? Will you get fat? Will your tits hurt like fuck? Will your hard-won career be at stake? What about your dignity? Your masculinity? Your very fucking _identity_?”

Justin bit his lip and fought his impulse to look away from Brian’s searing gaze.

“Didn’t think so,” Brian said.

Justin had no idea how to respond. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t sound like complete bullshit? The only thing he could do for Brian was support and protect and love him; he wouldn’t be able to share the burdens. That would be for Brian alone. But he had to say _something_! He took deep breath . . .

. . . and was saved by a little voice crying “daddy!”

Brian’s attention was instantly refocused. He leapt up and went to the wheelchair where Gus sat, looking like a boy king on a rolling throne. Brian knelt in front of him just as Justin had knelt in front of Brian.

“Hey there, sonny-boy,” Brian said, his voice husky with emotion. “I heard you were the bravest little bugger the docs had ever seen.”

Lindsay covered her mouth to keep from smiling. There were still tears running down her cheeks, but this time Justin was pretty sure that they were tears of relief.

Gus didn’t have a clue what Brian was saying, but he reacted to his father’s smile by smiling himself.

“Look at your snazzy outfit,” Brian said, pointing at Gus’s robe covered with giraffes and mushrooms (mushrooms?) “Trying to upstage your old man? How very oedipal.”

Justin and Lindsay laughed. Mel returned and looked back and forth between the laughing adults and giggling little boy.

“Am I invited to the party?” she asked, intending to sound tough and capable of handling any answer, but the quaver in her voice gave her vulnerability away.

“Did you bring some amyl nitrate with you?” Brian asked. “Anyone with poppers will always be invited to any party I’m attending.”

Mel smacked him on the back of the head . . . but gently.

 

“You know,” Justin said later in the Jeep. He'd given his mom's car to Linds and Mel.

“Hmmm?” Brian said distractedly.

“You really need to call Michael. He thinks you’re at that party you made up. I guess it says a lot about him and me – and you – that we believed you, and I don’t mean that in a good way.”

Brian shrugged insouciantly. “What can I say; I have a vivid imagination . . .”

“. . . and a shady reputation,” Justin added.

Brian grinned as though Justin had just complimented him. “What can I say?” he said proudly. “But, yeah, okay. I’ll call Mikey. He’s probably biking around Pittsburgh looking for the party. He might even be going door-to-door.”

Justin laughed. He could actually picture it. Poor Michael.

“You need to put him out of his misery,” he said.

“Sadly, that’s not allowed in Pennsylvania, but I can at least assure him that I’m alive and there aren’t any rope burns . . .”

Rope burns. The words recalled Severina to Justin’s mind. He had to say something.

“I meant it when I said I’d support your decision to have an abortion,” he said.

Brian didn’t answer and was quiet all the way back to the loft. When he pulled into his parking spot, he turned off the Jeep and shifted in his seat so he was facing Justin.

“Are you sure you mean that?” he asked.

Justin took a deep breath. Yes, it would break his heart, but at the end of the day it was Brian’s choice, and Justin would respect that.

“Yeah, I mean it,” he said steadily.

The obvious next question almost spoke itself out of thin air. _What was Brian going to do? Was he going to have an abortion?_ Justin wasn’t going to ask; Brian was going to need to tell him without prodding.

“I don’t know yet,” Brian said, as though the question really did speak itself out loud. “I know that’s not what you want to hear,” he continued. “I’m sorry to leave you wondering about something so important, but you’re going to have to deal with it, and you _must not_ push me. I need time. I’ve only just accepted the fact I’m pregnant less than twenty-four hours ago. All I knew last night is that I didn’t want an abortion right at _that_ moment. How will I feel tomorrow? Or the next day? I don’t know, and I . . .”

Brian fell abruptly silent and turned away. “Fuck!” he said under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ ”

Justin was alarmed by the sudden change in his demeanor. He reached out instinctively and rested his hand on Brian’s arm – not too heavily, he didn’t want Brian to feel crowded and trapped, but heavily enough that Brian would feel it – and hopefully the quiet support and acceptance behind it.

Brian sighed and tipped his head back against the seat. “I,” he said and then fell silent again. Justin didn’t push him even though he wanted to. “I . . . I think . . _fuck_ . . .” He fell silent again. After a moment, he swallowed and released a shaky breath. When he spoke, his words were barely audible and were blurred together as though they weren’t multiple words, but one.

“I think I can’t stop drinking,” he said. He turned to look in Justin’s eyes. “What if I can’t stop drinking?”

Justin’s heart stopped beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did intentionally use the term "be a man" when Justin chastises Brian for not just getting an abortion instead of playing around with an overdose. I meant it and all its various implications. I'm clever like that ;)
> 
> Also, forgive me for any errors. I'm doing my best to post chapters as quickly as possible. Typos are inevitable.


	6. Team Cold Turkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian is determined to get sober, but he'll need help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that I've changed the doctor's name from "Feinstein" to "Bernstein." "Bernstein" is canon. For some reason I'd thought his name was "Feinstein." Opps.

Doctor Bernstein sighed on the other end of the line. “Is that what he said? That I’m trying to talk him out of having an abortion because he thinks I want to be famous?”

“All I want to know,” Justin said, spinning around in the computer chair, “is whether there are any real reasons for him to feel that way? We need a doctor. If you can’t be ours, then we need to find someone else immediately.”

Doctor Bernstein sighed again. He was starting to sound like a balloon that’s leaking air. “You know how Brian can be,” he said.

“Yeah, of course, I do,” Justin replied. “But I’m not going to tell him he’s full of shit without knowing in fact whether or not he is.”

“Well, definitely don’t tell him he’s quote-unquote ‘full of shit.’ He’s very emotional right now, and not always for rational reasons. It’s part of the experience of being pregnant. Given Brian’s underlying personality, I wouldn’t be surprised if his random suspicions turn into downright psychotic paranoia.” 

Great. Just great. As if they weren’t already dealing with enough shit.

“I was being flippant with my choice of words,” Justin said, realizing that he couldn’t just assume Dr. Bernstein had a sense of humor. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he thinks you’re invested in him carrying to term for reasons other than his health and wellbeing.”

Doctor Bernstein didn’t answer immediately. “I’m not going to deny that there’s an element of professional curiosity in play here,” he said after a moment. “But I’ve already procured a therapist to help me work through my personal issues related to this miraculous phenomenon.” 

“Hopefully your therapist will tell you to stop calling Brian’s pregnancy a ‘miraculous phenomenon.’ That hardly sounds disinterested.”

“Fair point,” Dr. Bernstein replied. “Tell me, how is he this morning?”

Justin shrugged even though the doctor couldn’t see him. “Still sleeping.”

“Good, glad to hear it, but when he wakes up, I need him to call me right away. He told me the other night that, right at that moment, he didn’t want to get an abortion. It sounded to me as though he hadn’t yet made any solid, long-term decision. But in the meantime, we all must assume that he’s planning to go ahead with the pregnancy.” Dr. Bernstein paused to take a deep breath. “He needs to stop drinking . . . and smoking too. I’ve been Brian’s physician for almost a decade, and from what he’s told me, I believe that he has a serious alcohol addiction that needs to be dealt with immediately.”

It was Justin’s turn to sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “He already knows that. He told me so last night.”

“He did? Well, that’s wonderful news!”

Justin snorted. “To you, maybe. You’re not going to be the one living with him while he detoxes.”

“There’s always the option of rehab.”

“Yeah, right. That’ll happen.”

“If he goes soon enough, no one at the facility will know or need to know that he’s pregnant.”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Justin said distractedly. “Listen, I’ve got to go. He’s waking up.”

“Alright,” Dr. Bernstein replied. “But please tell him to come to see me or at least call.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all you can do.”

Justin hung-up just as Brian came downstairs.

“That was Bernstein, wasn’t it,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Justin went to him and placed his hands on Brian’s arms. Brian hadn’t dressed and was wearing nothing but his blue sheet wrapped around him. His hair was standing up all over, which was unusual. Even in his sleep, Brian seemed aware of his hair and tried to keep it from getting mused as much as possible. Obviously last night Brian had been too deeply asleep to give a shit. Justin was glad beyond words. Brian was going to need to be as rested as much as possible to survive the upcoming weeks.

“I think we should continue to see him,” Justin said. “He says he’s coping with any professional and personal issues that may come up.”

Brian snorted. “Whatever. He’s just an ambitious bastard like the rest of us. Where the fuck’s my coffee, and don’t you _dare_ tell me I have to start drinking decaffeinated.”

Of course, Justin wanted him to, but there were only so many hardships Brian would agree to undergo. Drinking and smoking were possibly the only addictions he could deal with breaking. Asking too much of him – especially now when the baby was still just an idea and not a palpable reality – might corral him in the direction of terminating the pregnancy, and Justin didn’t want that to happen. He’d started daring to think that Brian didn’t either. If he was considering not getting an abortion, why would he be so irked at Bernstein for seeming to push him in the same direction he was already leaning?

Brian sat down on one of the barstools and glared at his kitchen appliances as though they were the source of all the evil in the world.

“Coffee,” he groused. “Now.”

Justin poured him a mugful and added an obscene amount of sugar. Gross. He’d tried drinking coffee the way Brian likes it once and very nearly stayed up for forty-eight hours straight, and not in a useful, productive kind of way. Instead all he can remember was pacing around vibrating with bugged-out eyeballs.

“Uhm, how do you feel this morning?” Justin asked, knowing full well he was going to get an invective-laden response. His expectations weren’t wrong.

“How the fuck do you think I feel?” Brian grumbled. “Despite sleeping all fucking night – with no fucking, by the way – I’m fucking tired as hell. I went without my nightly alcohol consumption for the first time since I graduated from college ten years ago. I’ve got a ripping headache and a crick in my neck from sleeping on it wrong. I’m in a shit mood . . .”

“. . . Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“. . . and fucking starving, but if we go to the diner, I’m going to fucking heave if I even _see_ an egg. Especially eggs that’re still runny after they’ve been cooked . . .”

Brian dry-retched. “See?? I can’t even _think_ about eggs.”

“That’s a food aversion,” Justin said. “For some reason your body wants you to avoid eggs.”

Brian made a dismissive waving gesture as though Justin’s fact was an annoying fly.

“Okay, if you don’t want eggs for breakfast, what do you want?”

Brian frowned as though Justin had just questioned him regarding The Meaning of Life. After a ridiculously long time, he said “granola.” He’d never eaten granola in his life.

“Okay, I’ll go get you some . . .”

“And then will you blow me? My balls ache.”

“And then I’ll blow you.”

Brian looked temporarily placated and sipped his coffee. He made a face. “This tastes like shit. What’s going on? Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, it’s exactly the way you like it,” Justin said.

“God, it tastes like boiled wildebeest dung!”

“Okay,” Justin said gently, careful to not to poke the bear any more than he already had. “What do you want to drink then?”

“Orange juice,” Brian muttered. “With some of that new protein powder I bought.”

Justin froze. Protein powder? What the fuck was in protein powder? Was it safe for the baby?? Turning his back, he located the powder and quickly, surreptitiously unscrewed the lid. “Here it is,” he chirpily. He turned back to face Brian, and the lid opened, the container dropped on the floor, and powder spilled everywhere.

“Oh no!” Justin cried. “How terrible!”

He turned to look at Brian. He was wearing a dark look. “You did that on purpose,” he said. “Fuck the granola. Get on your knees and suck my cock right now.”

“That’s punishment?” Justin asked, but Brian had already gotten off the stool and leaned against a beam, letting his sheet fall to the floor. He was hard, so much so that his dick was actually sticking up instead of straight out. He spread his legs until Justin’s face was level with his groin.

Justin just looked at Brian for a moment, taking in the sight and scent of his pubic hair and the thin trail that led from there up to his navel. And then it hit him like a lightning bolt – right there, right beneath the taut skin and flesh of Brian’s lower belly, was a tiny, living creature nestled inside him. A tiny, little miracle! The realization flooded Justin’s whole body with a thousand different emotions. Awe. Joy. Terror. Gratitude. And underneath, simmering hot and greedy, was sheer, overflowing, primal lust. Brian’s body had never seemed so beautiful.

“ _God_ ,” he moaned, kissing Brian’s belly with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He was trembling with desire, and he heard Brian moan in response when he realized how turned-on Justin was.

“You’re so fucking hot for it,” Brian said hoarsely. “Jesus, fuck.”

Justin didn’t stop kissing Brian’s belly when he reached between Brian’s thighs and cupped his balls, rolling his testicles gently between his fingers.

“Haven’t come for-fucking-ever,” Brian gasped, which was actually kind of funny because Brian’s idea of “forever” was anything longer than twenty-four hours. “Can you feel how heavy they are?”

Brian was so proud of his balls; yes, he was proud of his perfect cock as well, but for some reason, it was his balls he bragged about the most (and their come-producing capacity). He loved playing with them, even when he wasn’t having sex. He’d just open his jeans and slide his hand between his legs while he was watching T.V. or sitting at his computer doing work. It wasn’t even necessarily a sexual thing; instead it seemed more like a comforting mechanism. Was it a reminder of his treasured aggressive masculinity?

“Yeah, I can,” Justin said against Brian’s belly.

“They’re going to empty in your mouth,” Brian said. “Every last drop of come. Stop worshiping my belly and suck my cock.”

Justin snorted with amusement. He’d been caught.

He moved to take Brian’s cock in his mouth, keeping his lips and jaws loose until it was in as far as Justin could take it. He felt the head press against the back of his throat. Brian moaned at the contact. Justin seized the base of his shaft as he closed his mouth and swallowed; he kept his other hand between Brian’s legs, cradling his balls. When he looked up at Brian’s face, Brian was gazing down at him, his lips parted and his eyes almost closed.

After a few minutes of casual sucking and swallowing, Brian indicated he was ready to come by placing both of his hands on the sides of Justin’s head and holding him still. He started slowly, gradually increasing his speed and depth until he was fucking Justin’s mouth.

“Tug on my balls,” he panted, and Justin complied immediately, alternating between letting them tighten close against Brian’s body and pulling them gently down. Brian gasped. “Suck on them,” he said urgently. “I’ll jerk myself off.”

Justin shifted so he could put both testicles in his mouth and lick the space between them.

Brian came without a warning, and Justin savored the feeling of Brian’s balls answering each contraction of his orgasm with their own smaller contractions. Brian’s whole body tensed and then sagged against the beam.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. Justin moved back so that Brian could reach between his legs and cup his balls, seeming to measure their weight for a moment.

“Mmmm, that was good,” he said breathlessly. “Ready for your turn?”

Justin smiled up at him and shook his head even though he was on the edge of orgasm himself. “That was for you,” he said.

Brian smiled hazily. “Thanks,” he said. “Now go jerk off because I know that’s what you want to do. And then let’s go to the diner. Granola’s on the menu, right?”

“I thought you couldn’t bear the sight or smell of eggs?”

Brian shrugged. “Junior’s changed his mind.”

Justin’s heart turned over with happiness. There was _no way_ Brian would’ve said such a thing if he was planning to have an abortion – at least that’s the way Brian was obviously feeling at the moment. It was a start. He grinned up at Brian, who rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t say anything,” he said. “And hurry the fuck up. Coming that hard makes me hungry.”

 

Everyone was thrilled to see Brian. As soon as he and Justin walked into the diner, there was a round of applause, not just from the usual suspects, but from the other diners as well. Brian looked around, confused.

“What the fuck?” he asked Deb when she came out from behind the counter to give him a kiss and a “don’t ever scare us again like that, you asshole!”

“It’s all everyone’s been talking about,” she said. 

All color drained from Brian’s face in an instant. “ _What_ is everyone talking about?” he asked faintly.

“You collapsing in front of Woody’s,” Michael answered in his “Duh!” voice. He nudged Justin aside so he could give Brian a hug (which, of course, Brian didn’t return because they were in public and he was sober). 

Color returned to Brian’s face, but he still seemed a bit shaken. Clearly, he had no idea how alarming Friday evening had been for everyone. Brian Kinney did not vomit in public and fall down, let alone beg to be taken to the hospital! The possiblity until now had been unthinkable!

He scowled at everyone and asked loudly whether people had something better to do than sit around staring at him like a bunch of idiots. There were chuckles and snorts, and the diner returned to normal – as did, presumably, all of Liberty Ave. It would only be a matter of minutes before word started getting around that Brian Kinney had returned to his kingdom ready to rule again with his iron . . . er . . . fist.

Things were tight. Ben and Michael were there, as were Emmett and Ted. Instead of trying to squeeze into their booth, Justin and Brian sat in a nearby booth of their own. They were quickly joined by Michael. Justin glanced at Ben and took in his mildly amused fondness. Doctor David he was not.

“How’s Gus?” Michael asked. He was sitting next to Justin across from Brian, but he was leaning so far forward that he was practically climbing onto the table. Justin bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“He’s alright,” Brian replied. “Apparently the bath the babysitter put him in was too hot. There’s no permanent injury though, which is a damn good thing. Stupid woman. What’s she doing babysitting when she can’t even figure out how to use the fucking cold water faucet?”

“And how are you doing, Bri?” Ted asked. “Back to being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?”

Brian just looked at him for a moment and then turned to Justin. “Where the hell’s the granola?” he asked.

“Granola?!” Deb screeched. “Did you just ask for granola??”

Brian glared at her. “Tell the whole diner, why don’t you?” he muttered. “Yes, I said ‘granola.’ I’m going on a health food diet. Oh, and no coffee. Just bring me some damn decaffeinated tea – but not any of that girly shit with those stupid names.”

“I don’t know,” Ted said. “Some ‘Tranquility Tea’ might do you some good.”

Brian just looked at him again.

Meanwhile, Michael had decided not to climb over the table into Brian’s lap and had instead took the more seemly route of moving to sit next to him.

“What the hell do you mean you’re going on a health food diet?” he asked. “You never mentioned it to me.”

“Opps, I must’ve forgotten to send you the memo.” Brian smiled his thanks when Deb put a big bowl of granola in front of him.

“Good for you, kiddo,” she said, pinching his cheek. Brian pretended to be annoyed. “So when’re you going to cut back on the partying? Or does your new diet consist of granola, salad and poppers?” 

Brian scrutinized his cereal before taking a suspicious bite. “Actually,” he said after he’d swallowed, “I’ve decided to go cold turkey on the drugs and booze.” He kept his eyes on his bowl and didn’t look at anyone.

Silence. Not only at the two booths, but from the surrounding ones as well. Justin looked around, taking in the various expressions. Ted and Emmett’s mouths were hanging open; Emmett’s spoon was even suspended in midair. The same was true of the occupants of several other booths in the vicinity. Bizarrely, Michael looked like he was going to burst into tears, while Ben just smiled approvingly.

It was Deb who spoke first. You’d think she’d just won the lottery.

“Oh, sweetie!” she cried, shoving her son out of the way so she could Brian a sloppy, lip-sticky kiss on the cheek. “That’s wonderful! I never thought I’d hear those words coming from you, but there you go – miracles really do happen!”

“It’s not a fucking miracle,” Brian snapped. “It’s just a long-overdue decision.”

Justin could tell that the use of the word “miracle” had rattled him. He clearly did not want to be thought of as a “miracle.” Nor did he want to have his actions considered as such.

“It was Friday night, wasn’t it?” Michael said. “Then why the hell were you going on about that stupid party yesterday?”

Brian shrugged. “I told you I was just giving you and Sunshine a slap for stalking me. I hate being stalked. You should now that by now, Mikey. When has anything good ever come from stalking me?”

Michael looked chastened. He even hung his head.

“And as for your first question,” Brian continued. “Yes. Call it a wake-up call or whatever, but don’t make a big fucking deal about it, okay?”

“Of course not,” Michael said. He put any arm around Brian’s shoulder and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Brian scowled and wiped it off.

He went back to eating his granola and didn’t look up again when, after a couple minutes, he said in a low voice so only their two booths could hear: “Justin’s going to need some help. He’s got school. He can’t be keeping an eye on my ass twenty-four hours.”

Emmett looked at Justin with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t want to be looking at Brian’s ass for twenty-four hours?”

Everyone laughed. God bless Emmett! He’d recognized how difficult it’d been for Brian to say what he had and forestalled the noisy astonishment.

As for himself, Justin was surprised, if not outright shocked by Brian’s words! So Brian was serious! He never, in a million years, would’ve asked for help (even though he’d disguised his request in terms of Justin’s needs, not his) if he didn’t realize – or care – how much was at stake . . .

He was going to keep the baby!

_Holy shit!!_

Justin excused himself for the bathroom as nonchalantly as possible. When he got there, he locked the door and broke down with relieved and grateful tears.

 

They convened that afternoon for their first meeting at Deb’s house. Brian had gone into the office to put things in order so he could take a few days off. Justin was pretty sure that he knew that Team Cold Turkey was going to get together, but he hadn’t said anything. Justin was all but certain that they’d never discuss it, which was okay. If Brian needed to pretend that his friends weren’t going to build their lives around his for the foreseeable future, Justin wasn’t going to try to make him talk. Brian was already _well_ outside of his comfort zone.

“Okay,” Justin said, standing in front of the fireplace. “First we should get a basic understanding of what we’re going to be facing. I did some research on the web and talked to Brian’s doctor. Given how much Brian drinks and how long he’s been drinking . . .”

“Drinking is Brian’s second career,” Deb said. “Has been since I first met him. It’s his fucking father’s fault . . . !”

“Debbie,” Justin’s mom said. “This isn’t the time.”

Deb brushed a tear away. “I know, but damn it! Sometimes I get so fucking mad when I think of what those people did to that poor boy.”

Vic placed his hand on Deb’s shoulder, and she covered it with her own.

“I printed out some information,” Justin said, passing around three-ring binders he’d put together for all of them. He gave them a few minutes to look at the documents before continuing.

“As you can see, Brian has already started the process. He had his last drink just before he went to bed last night, which was at about eleven o’clock, and he only had a beer and a glass of Beam – he did it in front of me, so I know that’s how much he drank, which, as we all know, is a lot less than he usually drinks every night.”

He heard his mother sigh. He knew she was chastising herself for the thousandth time for letting her son get involved with an older man with so many serious problems. Wait till she found out Brian was pregnant! He had no idea how she’d react – whether she’d be overjoyed at the prospect of a grandchild or terrified by the many implications having a baby would have for Justin and his future. Probably a bit of both and a million other emotions as well – good and bad.

“Right now he’s suffering from a headache that is growing more and more severe by the hour. He’s developing a slight case of the shakes, which is going to get worse until he won’t be capable of walking around, so it’s imperative he remain indoors in close vicinity to a bed.”

“Do we know if he’s going to stay at the loft or go somewhere else?” Ted asked.

“He’s still thinking about that,” Justin replied. “Right now he’s leaning toward renting a hotel room. The loft contains too many opportunities to fail and too many memories.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Ben said.

“Obviously, he’s going to need to take time off from work,” Justin continued. “And that’s going to add to his anxiety. Cynthia, his personal assistant, is aware of the situation and will pass on any urgent communications to us – Emmett, why don’t you be the contact person?”

“Can do,” Emmett replied. “Do I get a special button?” Ted gave him a playful punch in the arm.

“At the very least, he’s going to be agitated, moody and volatile . . .”

“And that’s going to be different in what way exactly?” Ted asked and everyone chuckled, even Justin. It was going to be important that everyone be able to blow off steam around each other.

“He’ll have nightmares until he develops insomnia. He’ll be pale and clammy and nauseous at first, and then he’ll start sweating and vomiting. His heartbeat will be frighteningly fast . . .”

Michael suddenly leapt up from the sofa. “What the fuck?” he yelled. “Brian should be in rehab! This sounds too serious for us to handle. He might die!”

Debbie smacked him in the back of the head. “Right now what Brian needs most is his friends – not some fucking strangers who are going to strap him to a fucking bed!”

“Actually,” Justin said. “It might come to that, and he knows it.”

“But at least, it’ll be his friends who are doing it,” Ben said. 

“He’s going to hate us, isn’t he?” Lindsay said.

“Definitely,” Justin replied. “We need to be prepared to take some serious verbal abuse. If it turns into physical abuse, that’s when we’ll need to restrain him, but it’s doubtful he will. He’s going to be very weak.”

“I volunteer to be the one who straps him down,” Mel said.

Everyone twittered again, except for Lindsay.

“I don’t think this is a laughing matter,” she said.

“Neither do I,” said Michael. “He could die.”

Mel rolled her eyes. “He is not going to die. Brian is going to keep the cockroaches company after the apocalypse.”

More twittering.

“This doesn’t seem _all_ that bad,” Daphne said.

“I haven’t finished,” Justin said. “There’s more. He may develop a fever and seizures. He may even have hallucinations.”

“It’s called ‘the horrors’ on the street,” Vic said. “It’s pretty scary and one of the reasons people should never try to go cold turkey when they’re on their own . . .”

Michael stood up again. “I refuse to be part of this,” he said, throwing his binder on the floor.

“And what’s the option?” Justin yelled at him, finally losing his temper. “Let him keep drinking and doing drugs? Is that your solution?”

“No!” Michael shouted back. “Not that anyone’s bothered to ask me even though I’m Brian’s best friend, but I have an idea. Let’s just help him cut back. Maybe we can get him off the whiskey and keep the beer? And pot instead of coke? Why are we going to force him to go through this?”

Justin could’ve strangled him, but he reminded himself that Michael’s stupid, fucking idea came from a fierce love and protectiveness. Justin understood that. But what Michael didn’t know was that Brian was carrying a baby – and what he didn’t know is that Brian would get an abortion if he can’t stop drinking. Brian had made that very clear. Or what if he decided not to abort, and the baby was born with serious complications? Justin knew Brian well enough to know that he’d never forgive himself.

Ben stood and put his arms around a fuming Michael. “Addictions don’t work like that,” he said gently. “It’s all or nothing. Brian is incapable of limiting himself . . .”

“But we could help him,” Michael said.

“How?” Ted asked. “By following him everywhere twenty-four-seven and giving him an electric shock every time he tries to buy a glass of Jim Beam?”

Michael looked around helplessly as it became clear that no one was on his side.

“Sit down, sweetie,” Deb said. “We’re going to help Brian through this. He’s going to be okay.”

“Plus we’re going to be working closely with his physician who’s going to be on call day and night,” Justin added. "If worse comes to worst, he can use medications to tranquilize Brian if necessary.”

God, Justin hoped that wouldn’t happen! He dreaded the thought of such powerful drugs coursing through Brian’s body and possibly harming the baby.

“Okay, then,” his mother said, with the innate practicality of her personality. “What are we going to do?”

Justin handed around a schedule. “We’re going to do this in three hour shifts,” he said. He took a huge, deep breath. Fuck, this was going to be hard. “Everyone is going to take part . . . except for you, Michael.”

A long silence passed while everyone became fascinated by their shoes. Michael was shaking all over, his eyes were wild with anger.

“WHAT??!” he finally bellowed. “That is BULLSHIT! You can’t keep me away from him!” He started to sob. Both Ben and Deb tried to comfort him but to no avail.

“He’s my best friend,” Michael sniffled. “He needs me.”

“He will too after this is all over,” Justin said kindly. 

“Honey, sweetie,” Deb said. “Sunshine’s right. You know you’d cave and buy Brian alcohol. You wouldn’t be able to say no to him . . . you never have been.”

Michael turned to look her with an expression that conveyed that he thought she’d betrayed him.

“If he fails, we’ll have to start all over again,” Ben said. “And we don’t know if Brian will have the strength to go through all of this a second time.”

“But . . . but he needs me,” Michael said helplessly.

“No one’s saying he doesn’t, sweetie,” Emmett said. “But look in your heart; you know your mom’s right. You wouldn’t be able to stand up to him, and he’ll know that. He’ll use your love to ease his pain – it’s the worst thing that could happen to your friendship. Brian will be furious if he fails . . . and furious at you for helping him fail.”

“Will . . . will I at least be able to see him?” Michael hic-cupped.

“You can come see him when it’s my watch,” Deb said.

“And mine too,” Ben added.

Michael took several deep breaths and wiped his eyes. “I need to go for a walk,” he said. “Alone.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Deb said, rubbing his back.

When Michael was gone, everyone released a collective sigh of relief.

“Poor guy,” Mel said. “Will he ever escape the thrall of Brian Kinney?”

Everyone looked at their shoes again. Nobody had the heart to tell her that Michael wasn’t the only one in love with Brian. Her wife was too.

Wow, this is awkward, Justin thought.

“I’ll start,” he said. “But I think it would be good if you could come with me, Deb.”

“Just say when,” she replied. “I’ve already made his favorite dish – tuna casserole.”

Justin had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Brian _loathed_ tuna casserole.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Here we go.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Brian. 

Brian didn’t say anything when he answered, not even a grumpy ‘what do you want?’

“Hey there,” Justin said. “You ready?”

No answer.

“Brian?”

He heard a resigned sigh.

“Yeah,” he said wearily. “But I’ve gotta warn you.”

Justin held his breath. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like whatever it was that Brian was about to say.

“About what?”

“I’m drunk,” Brian said matter-of-factly.

It was Justin’s turn for silence. Finally, he cleared his voice.

“I’m going to give the phone to Deb,” he said as calmly as he could.

Brian didn’t respond.

“She’s going to get you to the fucking hotel.”

Silence.

“Because if I see you right now, I _will_ kill you.”

More silence.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?!” Justin yelled.

“Nope.” Brian’s voice was cold.

Justin suddenly became aware that he was very much _not_ alone. Everyone was staring at him.

“Excuse me a second,” he said to the room. He’d started to shake, and they must’ve heard in his voice that whatever he and Brian were talking about was bad news. He left the room and went outside to the back porch.

“Call Dr. Bernstein,” Justin said in a voice just as cold and emotionless as Brian’s. “Tell him you want a fucking abortion.”

A long silence and then a low, savage-sounding answer.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” Justin yelled. “Fuck _me_? Fuck _you_ , you selfish prick! If you can’t get clean, get a fucking abortion!”

“Who said I can’t get clean?!” Brian yelled back. “I can and I fucking _will_! I am _not_ going to poison my baby!”

Justin’s breath caught. Had Brian really just said “my baby”? He couldn’t believe it!

“Why didn’t you fucking think of that while you were getting shit-faced?!” Justin shouted. “You don’t want to poison the baby, but what do you think you’re doing right now at this very minute?”

Yet another long silence.

“I’m being scared,” Brian replied frankly, steadily.

Justin was stunned by, not only the admission, but the calm with which Brian had said it.

Brian was changing. Something Justin had doubted in his heart he’d be able to do.

“I’m scared, and I had a few fucking drinks,” Brian said.

“You can’t fall back into that pattern,” Justin replied. “You just can’t.”

“I know.”

“You’re pregnant, Brian. There’s another life inside of you – another human life.”

“I know.”

“You _have_ to succeed. Not only for you – but for your baby as well.”

He was very consciously and deliberately saying ‘your baby’ instead of ‘my baby’ or even ‘our baby.’ Amazingly, Brian was starting to actively own the fact that he was pregnant and, that being pregnant, he had obligations beyond his own personal needs and desires – something that Brian had never experienced before, let alone admitted. It was imperative that Justin constantly remember how very hard all of this was for him.

“I’ll come with Deb,” Justin said. “Did you make hotel reservations?”

“Yeah. The Omni,” Brian replied.

Justin chuckled. “Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“The room’s reserved for a week. That better be fucking long enough.”

“It should be. Okay, Deb and I will be at the loft to pick you up in about half an hour. And, Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“Please _please_ don’t drink anything more in the meantime, and if you feel the urge, then just place a hand on your belly and remember your baby is nestled there, trusting you to do the right thing and take your pregnancy seriously.”

“Get here as quickly as possible,” was all Brian said before he hung-up.

Justin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Yes, it was terrible that Brian had gotten drunk, but he had a feeling – knowing Brian’s strength and tenacity – that this was the last time, that he was going to get sober. Justin turned to go back inside, and that’s when he saw her.

Daphne. Her eyes were wide and her knuckles white as she clutched the doorjamb with both hands as though she thought she might fall over.

“Oh my God,” she whispered in a tone of pure, unadulterated awe. “Oh. My. God.”


	7. The Balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detox commences. It's uglier than any of them had imagined it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm continuing to keep the physiological details of Brian's pregnancy vague and mysterious. Don't get bogged down in the wheres and why-fors. Just go with the flow.

The two lifelong friends stared at each other across a chasm of unknown depths.

Justin was bewildered by a thousand conflicting emotions. His acute alarm that Daphne had found out Brian was pregnant was mixed with the profound relief of knowing he now had someone he could talk to, but he couldn’t think clearly, especially knowing there was a clock ticking – Brian had all but told him he didn’t think he had the will to stop himself from drinking more. What should he say to her? Should he confirm that Brian was pregnant or try to convince her that she’d misunderstood? Who was going to be the first to speak?

She was looking at him as though she’d never seen him before. Her chin was quivering; he saw that she was on the verge of tears.

“Oh, Justin,” she said, her voice catching.

He just looked at her. What was going on? He couldn’t read her at all. Was she breaking down because she was happy for him? . . . Or not?

“It’s true,” he said finally when she didn’t continue. He tried to give her a happy smile, but it faltered on his lips as she approached him slowly, her expression still unreadable. He pulled her close for a hug. Her arms were so tight around his neck he thought he might suffocate in her fuzzy scarf.

“Are you . . . is he . . . going to keep it?” she asked.

“I think so,” he replied. “But only if he can get sober.”

She pulled back and looked at him. Her eyes swam with tears.

“You’re . . . you’re not happy for me,” he said. “Why?”

“ _Why_?” she said incredulously. “You really have to ask me that? What if I told you _I_ was pregnant and wanted to keep the baby? C’mon, don’t think about your answer, just say the very first thing that pops into your head.”

“I’d . . . I’d think you were making a terrible mistake,” Justin said reflexively. He winced when his answer remained clinging to the breaths that smoked between them.

“And why is this any different?” she asked. “You’ve impregnated someone, Jus! You’re only nineteen! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you . . . you’re too young! What about your dream of spending a year abroad in Italy? What about getting your MFA in London? What if you meet someone else? You’re never . . . you’re never going to be free of him.” Her eyes overflowed, and tears ran down her cheeks, dampening her long lashes into clumps.

Justin’s first impulse was to get mad – _really_ mad. How could she not be happy for him? The man he loved more than anything in the world – more than Italy or London or any other fucking place – was going to have a baby – _their_ baby! How was that not good news?

. . . But then he remembered. And kept remembering . . .

“Don’t you recall staying with me the night before you went to Vermont?” she said brokenly. “Don’t you remember how we talked all night and you told me you couldn’t take it anymore, that you needed to break up with Brian, that your ‘so-call relationship’ was ruining your life? And before that, you were even talking about hooking up with some other guy and saying how that guy was so romantic and Brian was such a selfish asshole. What about admitting to me that you’ve never been truly happy with Brian? That you’ve never felt loved? Now you’re stuck. For life.”

Justin looked at her pleading eyes.

“So what are you saying?” he asked, feeling like some part of him had just died. “That I should tell Brian he should get an abortion?”

She laughed ruefully. “Ironic, isn’t it?” she said. “There I was saying to you just the other night that the choice to bear a child should be the woman’s and hers only, but right now, part of me feels like Brian would be selfish to _keep_ this baby. Is it just because he’s a man or is it because I know – and so do you – that he’s going to make your life, if not hell, then at least very _very_ difficult.”

Justin reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “There’s going to be a baby . . .”

“Oh, right,” she said, stepping away from his caress. “I forgot. Adding a baby to a dysfunctional relationship always makes the situation so much better. Also, Jus, think about the life this baby will be born into. One parent a teenager and the other just as mature as one. One self-centered because of his age, and the other self-centered because of his past. One on the verge of a career and the other whose career is a big part of what defines his life – along with promiscuous sex and drugs and drinking, that is. Even if Brian can get sober for the pregnancy, is he going to be able to stay sober – or even want to – after the baby’s born? What if he dumps you again or doesn’t want to take care of the baby? The whole thing will fall into your lap, and you’ll be a college sophomore caring for an infant.”

Justin was getting annoyed. There was _already_ so much going on. He didn’t think he could handle anymore. “He’s changing,” he snapped. “You should hear him. He’s talking about getting sober for the first time in his life. He’s not only accepting help, he’s asking for it. Being pregnant is going to change him – it’s already started to . . .”

Whether she was listening and had dismissed his words or just on autopilot, Daphne broke in again as though she’d never been interrupted. “And what happens when he starts to show? Have you guys even thought about that? How’s he going to handle it when people start asking questions? His ego is so fragile as it is – and don’t try to tell me he isn’t a misogynist. He looks down his nose at women and ‘women’s experiences.’ He’s the ultimate ‘woman’ right now. What happens when people start whispering and pointing? Is Brian going to be able to handle it? And before you say ‘yes,’ ask yourself why you believe it. He can’t even handle being seen as a ‘faggot.’ He can’t even bottom!”

Justin clapped his hand over her mouth. “Ssshhhh! The last thing in the world we need is someone in there,” he gestured to the door, “finding out.”

She continued in a whisper when Justin removed his hand. “I’m scared for you,” she said. “I’m scared for the baby. I’m even scared for Brian. What if he flips out late in his pregnancy and decides to have a late-term abortion? It’ll kill you. I _know_ how much you love children. I know how you’ve always wanted one, how essential having one is to your life happiness. But you have literally decades to make it happen – and you’ll find a better partner to make it happen with. You know I love Brian, but I don’t love the way he treats you. And I don’t like some aspects of the way he lives his life. If you guys go ahead with this, you’ll be bound together for life, whether or not you want to be.”

She stopped talking and searched his face for some flicker of agreement. She didn’t find it.

“Are you finished?” Justin asked coldly. Any relief he’d felt in thinking he’d have someone he could talk to had evaporated.

She brushed her tears away and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her parka. “Yeah,” she said.

“Good,” he replied. “Now, do you want to stay a part of this plan to help Brian get sober or do you want to back out considering how you feel about him and the baby – and me.”

Her eyes welled with tears again. “I’m only saying all of this because I love you so much,” she said. “I want more than anything for you to be happy.”

“You’re just going to have to assume that this baby _will_ make me happy,” he said. “If you can’t . . . if you can’t do that then I don’t want to see you again.”

She put her face in her mittens and started sobbing.

“Think about it and let me know,” he said and went back inside letting the screen door slam behind him, leaving her alone in the drizzle that’d started to fall gloomily from the low-hanging clouds.

 

When he and Deb walked into the loft, they found Brian sitting on the edge of the bed with his long legs stretched out in front of him, smoking a cigarette.

“Last one,” he said when he noticed them. He was clearly very drunk. Justin could smell the alcohol even from across the room.

He and Deb had discussed on the drive over how they were going to handle a drunk Brian, and they’d decided yelling at him was not going to help. But it was _so_ hard not to yell at him! Deb thought this was a brief, little hic-cup in their plans, but Justin knew that _so_ much more was at stake. Brian was wearing jeans and no shirt. Justin couldn’t stop staring at his belly. Maybe it was already too late. Maybe Brian had already killed their baby.

Would Justin ever be able to forgive him if he had?

“Hey there, kiddo,” Deb said to Brian cheerfully, clapping her hands in encouragement like a den mother rousting her scouts for another day of slogging through mosquito-ridden forests. “Let’s get some clothes on you and take you to your honeymoon suite. I hope there’s a vibrating bed. I’ve always wanted to try out a vibrating bed.”

Brian snorted. “Great, just what I’ll need. That’ll be so helpful while I’m shaking and puking like a sick dog.”

Deb sat down beside him while Justin started packing Brian’s stuff.

“Don’t forget my black silk shirt,” Brian said, his words slurring. “I wanna detox in my club clothes. It seems appropriate somehow.”

Justin didn’t even turn to look at him.

“You’re ready for this,” Deb said, patting Brian’s thigh.

“You don’t know that,” he replied. “Neither do I . . . but I’ve got no choice. It’s now . . . or never.”

Justin’s stomach twisted. Brian’s words were terrifying . . . but they were also evidence of how serious he was about succeeding. This was not a time to be angry at him, Justin chided himself. It was a time when they needed to give him all of their unqualified love and support.

“Well, you might not know it, but I do,” Deb said. “I’ve watched you overcome every fucking obstacle you’ve ever encountered, often when the odds were against you. You’re one hell of a tough kid. If your mind is set on drying out, it’ll happen. The only way you’ll fail is if you start doubting yourself, so get up, get dressed and let’s get out of here.” She patted his thigh again and stood up.

Brian smiled a rolled-lipped smile and got up when she offered him a helping hand.

“Ready, Sunshine?” she called. “We’ve got a date with sobriety, and we don’t wanna be late.”

 

Brian had indeed rented the honeymoon suite, although to Deb’s disappointment (and Brian’s relief) there was no vibrating bed. Justin couldn’t help but give him a fond eye roll. He smiled a tentative smile. _Please forgive me_ was written all over his face. Justin smiled back.

“First things first,” Deb said. “Sunshine, you and I need to go on a search and destroy mission. All booze must be discovered and washed down the drain.”

Brian sat on the edge of a bed that was even bigger than his while Justin and Deb scoured the room and poured the entire contents of the minibar down the bathtub drain. When they were finished, Deb stood in front of Brian with her hands planted firmly on her hips. Her look was stern. She was clearly not going to be mollified even if Brian turned on his considerable charm.

“Did you stop by to check out this room after you rented it?” she asked.

Brian looked up at her, his face stony. 

“Brian A. Kinney! Answer me this second!”

“Yes,” he said. Justin could tell he wanted to look away, but he didn’t.

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about!” Deb yelled at him. “Tell me where the fuck it is or we’re changing rooms!”

Justin had been thinking about his conversation with Daphne and had only been listening to Brian and Deb with one ear. Deb’s tone of voice brought him back abruptly to the situation at hand.

“You have till the count of three, kiddo,” Deb said. “One . . . two . . .”

“Okay, okay! It’s in the fucking nightstand!”

Justin watched Deb go to the nightstand and open the drawer. She pulled out a bottle of cough syrup and held it up.

“What the fuck’s in it?” she asked.

Brian’s eyes were beseeching as he looked at Justin. “Please,” he whispered. “Let me and Deb discuss this alone . . .”

“No way,” Justin said without raising his voice. “No fucking way.”

Brian sighed a long, shaky sigh. “Codeine and promethazine, which by the way . . .” he looked at Justin with a challenging expression, “. . . was prescribed by my doctor because it helps relieve _morning sickness_ . . .”

“I don’t give a fuck whether it was prescribed or not and for what reason!” Deb said. “Although I will say that saying it was prescribed to you for morning sickness is quite a creative explanation. But I’m willing to bet you were not prescribed fucking codeine! No doctor would be so fucking stupid as to prescribe fucking codeine to someone who’s going cold turkey!”

Brian leapt up. “It’s nothing more than a fucking fall-back in the case of an emergency!” he shouted. “It’ll just take a bit of the edge off if things get too bad! Fuck, it’s not the two of you who’re going to be wishing you were fucking dead sometime within the next twenty-four hours. Fuck you for giving me shit about a fucking spoonful of fucking cough syrup!”

Justin snatched the bottle out of Deb’s hands and turned it around until he found the warnings. Then he got right up in Brian’s face in a way he’d _never_ imagined doing before. When he started reading, he didn’t bother to mince words even with Deb in the room.

“ _Do not take if pregnant. Can reduce uterine blood flow causing fetal hypoxia, a condition in which the body or a region of the body is deprived of adequate oxygen supply._ And I’m sure codeine isn’t on a list of safe drugs! Jesus Christ, Brian, I can’t even take fucking Tylenol, and the baby you’re carrying is half mine! We can’t know _what_ drugs he or she is allergic to!”

Brian crawled into the middle of the bed, covered his face with his hands and curled into a ball. Justin instantly wanted to comfort him, but he couldn’t. Brian was going to have to hurt – and hopefully a lot. It was an essential part of the withdrawal he was going to go through.

Suddenly, he remembered Deb was in the room. He turned to her very slowly, expecting to see any number of expressions, but what he didn’t expect was for her to sink to her knees, her hands in prayer, and her bright, shining eyes looking up at the ceiling.

Shit!!

“Sunshine, bathroom,” she whispered.

Justin looked at Brian. He hadn’t moved. Considering how drunk he was, Justin wouldn’t be surprised if he’d passed out. He followed Deb into the swanky bathroom, and she closed the door softly. She sat down on the toilet cover, and he sat down on the edge of the Jacuzzi sized tub.

“We have to make sure he doesn’t use the bubble jets,” he said absently.

“Sunshine, look at me,” Deb said. He did, but very reluctantly.

“Is Brian pregnant?” she asked with surprising calm.

Justin nodded an almost imperceptible nod.

“He cannot know that you know,” he said.”

“Have you two told anyone else?”

Justin sighed. “We haven’t _told_ anyone, but Daphne overheard me earlier talking with Brian on the phone. So she knows, and she’s not happy about it. She already gave me the mother of all lectures, so if that’s what you plan to do too, save your breath.”

Deb took his hands and held them lovingly. “I have no intention at all of lecturing you,” she said in a quiet voice that, up until then, Justin would’ve thought she was physically incapable of. “This is a fucking miracle straight from God.” She looked up and crossed herself again.

Justin smiled a relieved smile and squeezed her hands.

“How long?”

“It happened March 26th . . .”

“So about three weeks ago. How did you learn so quickly?”

“The condom broke. We got tested for HIV as soon as possible. It was a full blood screen. His doctor realized he was pregnant. It took a little while for Brian to accept it . . .”

“Well, of course it did!” Deb wasn’t yelling yet, but she was louder than before. Justin put a finger to his lips.

“He _cannot_ know you know,” he said. “I have no idea what he’d do if he found out. He’s only just started considering the possibility of keeping the baby instead of getting . . .”

“He was thinking about getting a fucking _abortion_?!” Deb screeched. Justin leapt up and turned on the bath faucet as well as the two sink faucets and the overhead fan.

“ _Please_ , Deb,” he begged.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she said between her fingers when she clapped her hand over her mouth. “It’s just that I can’t believe he’s even _considering_ aborting this miraculous child. It’s like the virgin fucking birth! Well, except Brian’s hardly a virgin. I’m pro-choice, of course, but outside of politics, I hate abortion, and I _especially_ hate it in this case. At least _you_ want this baby, right?”

“More than anything in the world,” Justin replied without hesitation. “But it’s Brian’s body; he gets the last say.”

“ _Shit_ ,” she said desperately. “He’s not going to be able to do it. You know he’s a son to me, but Brian has his weaknesses. Being a man – a strong gay man – is everything to him.”

“That doesn’t have to change,” Justin said just as desperately. “What can be stronger than carrying a baby and giving birth? He’ll be the strongest man in the whole, fucking world.”

“I know that,” she said. “We both know that, but will Brian see it that way – especially when he’s so big he won’t be able to see his dick? Don’t laugh,” she added when Justin chuckled. “I’m being fucking serious.”

“So am I,” he replied. “I’ve never taken anything more seriously in my life – even the bashing and my recovery.”

She smiled and reached out to cup his cheek. “You’re a daddy,” she said. “My little Sunshine is a daddy! When are you going to tell your mother?”

“Not until I absolutely have to,” he said. “And the same goes for Michael . . . well, that’ll be Brian’s decision, but I’m willing to bet it wouldn’t be anytime soon. _Please_ don’t tell him.”

“Sweetie,” she said. “Sunshine, I wouldn’t tell Michael this news if the angel Gabriel himself came down and commanded me to. It’s going to break him.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them away with an exasperated gesture.

“So, now you can see why it’s imperative that Brian get sober?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” she said. “And let’s not waste another second in here talking. We’ve got a lot of fucking work to do!”

When they came out of the bathroom, Brian was still in a ball in the middle of the bed.

“Poor, baby,” Deb whispered. “So much rides on his success.”

“I’m thirsty,” Brian said, startling them. He didn’t look at them when he added. “And so is junior.”

Brian must’ve heard them in the bathroom!

Justin and Deb froze rather comically. Brian smirked at them, and unfurled from his ball.

“Oh my God, sweetie!” Deb shrieked, finally free of the need to keep her voice down. “Brian, honey! I’m _so_ fucking proud of you!”

Brian made a face. “Why? For getting knocked up? It was Sunshine, here, who broke the condom with his ginormous dick and planted his seed. I was just the owner of the ass he planted it in.”

Justin blushed a fever red.

“No, you asshole,” Deb said. “Not for getting pregnant, for not having an abortion!”

Brian’s eyes turned stormy. “Don’t count your chickens,” he said nastily.

“And what the _fuck_ do you mean by that?!” Deb screeched so loudly that Justin winced.

“I mean,” Brian said, “that I still have months to decide, and if I can’t stay sober, I’m getting an abortion. I’m not bringing a kid into this world with problems that’ll remind me every fucking day what a worthless piece of shit I am!”

His voice cracked. Justin couldn’t take it another second. He crawled onto the bed and but his arms around Brian.

“Ssshhhh,” he whispered, smoothing his hand over Brian’s hair. “First steps first. We’re going to get you sober. You can do this. I _know_ you can.”

Brian snorted ruefully, but he didn’t try to escape Justin’s embrace. “Everyone keeps saying that,” he said. “And it’s bullshit. We won’t know if I can do it until I actually have. And getting sober isn’t the only Herculean task I have to accomplish; I have to _stay_ sober until I have the baby . . .”

“Damn right you do! And afterwards too,” Deb said. “Because I’m not gonna let you not nurse your child for as long as possible!”

Justin stiffened and froze; he was astonished that Brian didn’t as well. They hadn’t even come _close_ to discussing anything about what would happen after the baby is born. Hell, they hadn’t even discussed what will happen when Brian started to show!

“Just like you to bring that up, Deb,” Brian said.

“Well, you don’t want your tits to be fucking taps in a fucking whiskey barrel, do you? You’ll have to apply for a fucking liquor license!”

Brian laughed – he actually laughed! Justin kissed his cheek.

“Where’s my fucking water?” Brian groused. “I’m still thirsty. And stop crying, Deb. Your make-up’s going to run all over the place. I don’t want to have to pay to clean this fucking duvet, and by the way: Mikey _cannot_ find out.”

“I won’t tell him, honey,” Deb said. “I know as well as you do how he’ll react, and I don’t want anything to shake the boat. Even though he’s my son and I love him dearly beyond words, I want to help you have this baby, and if that means keeping this a secret from him, then I’ll do it gladly.”

Brian smiled at her, but he already looked pale and exhausted. Both of them could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes.

 

Team Cold Turkey met every morning and evening at the diner – all were present except for whoever it was that was with Brian at the moment. The mood was subdued and sometimes people were even tearful, but everyone was determined to stay onboard. Both Michael and Daphne attended the meetings, but neither of them was on the schedule. Justin saw it as a good thing that Daphne was still involved even if less directly. She and Justin hadn’t spoken alone since their conversation on the back porch at Deb’s house.

Brian was a mess. There really was no other way to describe it. At first he was able to sleep for a little bit, but by now he wasn’t able to sleep beyond an hour. His exhaustion was making him crazy. He often seemed confused as to where he was and when it was and even the name of the person who was with him at the time. He shouted and yelled until he was hoarse, and when he couldn’t shout and yell anymore, he started crying and didn’t seem able to stop. He was shaking so violently that he couldn’t hold a glass of water or feed himself. After a couple of days, they’d had to switch from solid foods to Ensure so he could drink it through a straw. Not that he wanted to eat. It was hell trying to convince him to drink even half a bottle.

Nothing calmed him. They tried soothing background music, but it had no effect. They tried giving him massages, but he couldn’t bear any kind of touch – even having a sheet over him was too much. He sweated so profusely that the mattress got damp, which made him shiver as well as shake. He was deathly pale and sometimes lay for hours just staring at whoever was there with the desperate, pleading eyes of an artic seal pup.

When the seizures and hallucinations started, Justin called Dr. Bernstein. Fortunately, it was Deb’s turn to watch Brian when he arrived. Justin arrived shortly thereafter. They met in the hall outside Brian’s room.

“Do we know what the hallucinations are about?” Dr. Bernstein asked. “Are they benign or frightening to him?”

“I’d say frightening,” Justin replied. “He seems terrified sometimes . . .”

“Sometimes I think it’s about the baby,” Deb interrupted.

Dr. Bernstein looked at Justin questioningly.

“It’s okay,” Justin told him. “She knows, and Brian knows she knows.”

“Good. The more people who know he’s pregnant, the better,” Dr. Bernstein said. “Now what do you mean when you say that he hallucinates about the baby?” he asked Deb.

“He covers his belly with both hands and cowers in corners as though someone’s trying to hurt him or the baby, and he shouts at whoever it is to leave him alone. And sometimes . . .” She paused to angrily wipe away a tear. 

“Sometimes what?” Dr. Bernstein asked.

“Sometimes he starts saying that the baby is a parasite and that he wants to be rid of it, and if we won’t do it, then he will. Once one of the people who was watching over him said that they caught him trying to ‘drown’ a clump of towels in the bathtub while saying something about a baby and yelling at it to ‘just fucking die, already.’”

Justin turned away and started pacing. He didn’t know if he could take this much longer. 

“Have you witnessed any of this kind of behavior?” Dr. Bernstein asked him.

Justin didn’t stop pacing, but he covered his face with his hands.

“Sunshine can’t bear to watch him,” Deb said sadly. “It’s just too much for him. He’s only a boy after all.”

Justin was beyond grateful when the doctor didn’t lecture him – or even quiz him. He didn’t know what he’d do. He already felt like he was going insane along with Brian!

“Have others heard him talking about the baby?” Dr. Bernstein asked.

“Everyone has,” Deb replied. “But they think it’s all part of this cold turkey shit, so no one’s taking it seriously, thank God.”

Justin stopped pacing and looked beseechingly at Dr. Bernstein. “How much longer is this going to go on?”

“The worst should end soon,” the doctor replied. “Although there’s a huge wild card in play. We have no idea how much of what Brian is experiencing is due to the withdrawal . . . or the pregnancy.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Deb snapped.

“It just means that we need to keep in mind that Brian’s body is in total crisis, and it’s not just due to the withdrawal; it may also be due to the fact that he’s pregnant. It feels strange having to remind you two that Brian is a man, and nothing about him is designed to be pregnant. Pregnancy affects everything in a woman’s body from hormones to the location of her vital organs. It’s too early for Brian to have an ultrasound, so we really can’t have any idea if the gradual expansion of the ‘uterus’ – for lack of a better term – is jeopardizing the proper functioning of everything from his stomach to his kidneys. We just don’t know. He may even be in a substantial amount of discomfort, which may be the source of some of these disturbing hallucinations.”

Deb’s eyes filled with tears again, and it took all the strength in Justin to stop himself from breaking down as well.

“Maybe we should just do it,” he said, choking on the words.

“Do what?!” Deb screeched.

“Give him an abortion. I’ll . . . I won’t be able to live in a world without him in it, and if the pregnancy is endangering his life, then I want to end it. He comes first.”

“You can’t mean that!” Deb said. “We’re not talking about a tumor here; were talking about an innocent baby!”

“And what does that mean, Deb?” Justin shouted. “Put his life on the line for some . . . something that doesn’t even exist yet?”

“Of course it exists!” Deb shouted right back. “And it’s growing right now as we speak. A little human life – a Goddamn miracle!”

Justin lost it. He just finally fucking lost it.

“Why is Brian’s life less important?! Why is he less worthy to live?! Is it because he’s a quote/unquote ‘selfish prick’? Is it because his life is somehow tainted beyond hope and thus less valuable than the baby’s? Is it because he’s never given your precious son what he’s been panting after for years . . . ?!”

A line had been suddenly and irrevocably crossed. He stared at Deb as her expressive face turned as hard and cold as possible. He never imagined in a million years that she could look like that.

“Deb,” he said pleadingly. “I’m sorry . . .”

“I’m leaving,” she said. “This is now officially yours and Brian’s party. You two can do whatever the fuck you want, but I’m not going to get innocent blood on my hands . . . and I’m not going to let _my_ baby be insulted right to my fucking face! You know he could’ve ended up in a bucket on some fucking abortionist’s floor? God knows it’s what my fucking mother would’ve preferred, and look what I would have missed? My beautiful son! What the whole fucking _world_ would’ve missed! Now, I’m going in there,” she said, gesturing to the door of Brian’s room. “I’m going to get my fucking things, and I’m going to respectfully ask that the rest of you not meet at the diner anymore. I’m sorry . . . well, actually no I’m fucking not.”

She opened Brian’s door and slammed it behind her. Justin and Dr. Bernstein stood looking at each other for a moment in stunned silence . . .

. . . and then they heard Deb scream Brian’s name.

They barged through the doorway, almost tripping over each other. For a moment, Justin couldn’t understand what was going on, but then he realized the sliding door was open, billowing the long gauzy curtains.

“Hey, kiddo,” Deb said carefully. “Come down, sweetie.”

Doctor Bernstein held out his arm to keep Justin back; Justin struggled against him wildly.

“Don’t,” the doctor hissed. “We can’t make a commotion.”

Every nerve in Justin’s body screamed at him to run to Brian, but he knew Dr. Bernstein was right. When he reached the open door, he looked out and saw Brian sitting on the thin, metal railing dangling his bare feet above the busy street. He didn’t even seem aware that he wasn’t alone. Justin swallowed a sickening mouthful of bile and fear.

“Brian,” Dr. Bernstein said calmly. “What you’re experiencing right now isn’t real. It’s an effect of the withdrawal process. Climb down. I’ve got a sedative I can give you that won’t hurt the baby . . .”

Brian started laughing. It was not a pretty sound.

“Doesn’t fucking matter, Doc,” he said glibly. “Give me a shot of fucking Haldol if you want. Hell, give me a glass of fucking Beam. The baby’s already dead. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt it now.”

Both Justin and Deb gasped. Dr. Bernstein hissed at them angrily to be quiet and let him handle the situation.

“How do you know that, Brian?” he said. “How do you know the baby is dead?”

“Because I killed it,” Brian said in a withered voice.

“How did you kill it?”

“I wished it was dead, and it died.”

“There is no way that you can know that.”

“Bullshit. I know everything. I can do anything. Hell, I can even fly . . .”

It happened in less than a fraction of an instant – maybe it was even that primal connection he’d felt when he heard Brian’s distraught calling Gus's name in the hospital – Justin reached out and grabbed the collar of Brian’s t-shirt. It tore, but it was enough to counteract the forward motion of Brian’s fall sending them both sprawling on the floor of the balcony.

The second he was aware of what was happening, Brian started to thrash and shout. It took all three of them to subdue him and get him back into the room and onto the bed. Justin slid the door closed and locked it. When he turned back to the bed, he saw Dr. Bernstein sitting astride Brian’s chest, trying to pin his hands above his head.

“I need help here!” the doctor shouted, and Justin quickly twisted a sheet into a rope, tied Brian’s wrists together and held on.

“My briefcase!” Dr. Bernstein yelled. 

Deb grabbed it and carried it over to the bed. With the nimbleness that comes from experience, the doctor filled a syringe from a small, sealed jar and injected the contents into Brian’s arm. Almost immediately, Brian ceased struggling.

“You can let go of him,” he told Justin. “This sedative is what we call a medication-induced restraint. He’ll be asleep very soon.”

Brian turned his head so he was looking in Justin’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. A tear fell and slid down his temple and into his sweaty hair.

Justin tried to give him as calm and as gentle a smile as he could. “It’s okay,” he said. “Whatever happened or will happen in the future is okay as long as you’re safe. That’s all I ask – that you stay safe.”

Brian gave him a little smile in return and then fell soundly asleep. Everyone in the room breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“God, that was close,” Deb said, her voice shaking now that the adrenaline had receded. She crossed herself. “Jesus Fucking Christ! I’ve never been so scared in my fucking life!”

She sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, and Justin went to her and wrapped his arms her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“You saved his life,” he said. “And you saved the baby’s life.”

She turned to look at him and patted his cheek. Justin knew in that second that all was forgiven between them.

He stood up and went to the desk where Dr. Bernstein was writing in his log.

“Do you think it’s true?” he whispered. “That the baby is dead?”

Dr. Bernstein closed his log and removed his glasses. “Mothers – well, in this case pregnant fathers – have an almost sixth sense when it comes to the fetus they’re carrying. But that said, Brian is not in his right mind. We cannot assume that anything he thinks or says is true. After some time has passed, I can draw a blood sample and ascertain whether his production of white blood cells has spiked. If they have, that could be a sign that the fetus is dead, and his body is trying to stave off infection. If his white blood cell count is unremarkable there is no reason at all to think the fetus has died.”

“Wouldn’t he miscarry if the baby was dead?” Justin asked.

“Unfortunately not,” the doctor replied. There is no site of entrance or egress in the uterus-like organ that contains the fetus. Unlike a woman who becomes impregnated through her vagina and gives birth through her vagina, Brian does not have a birth canal. He was impregnated through absorption – at least that’s what we believe – but he can only expel the fetus – either in the event of birth or prenatal death – through surgical intervention.”

Justin took a deep breath. In his excitement over the pregnancy, he’d all but forgotten how big of an ordeal the whole experience would be for Brian – and how dangerous it was.

“When is he going to wake up?” he asked.

“In a couple of hours,” the doctor replied. “In the meantime, though, I want to transport him to my office. He needs around the clock medical attention. I wish I’d known how difficult the detox process was going to be. The group of you did a good job, and he probably wouldn’t be alive now except for your care, but I’m going to take over now.”

Justin nodded. He was actually relieved. “Can we come to see him?” he asked.

“Of course. I think it’s important for him to be constantly reminded of how deeply loved he is.”

He heard Deb sniffle and then swear. “Jesus Christ! I’m like a fucking leaky faucet!”

Justin smiled . . . and then fainted dead away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fudging with the facts. The Omni hotel in Pittsburgh has neither a honeymoon suite nor a room with a balcony. If I wrote for the New York Times, you could fire me, but fortunately I do not and so you can't ;)


	8. Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary? It's hard to summarize this chapter - it's funny, sexy . . . and devastating. In fact, the delicate of heart may want to wait to read it until I post the next chapter.

Deb could get away with things that Justin never could, so he simply stepped aside when he opened the door to the loft and let her pass carrying a million and one plastic shopping bags.

“So,” she said, dropping the bags on the floor. “This is some of it; for the perishables, you’ll have to come by the house and pick them up with the Jeep. There’s only so much crap I can lug around when I’m riding that Goddamn bus.”

Justin had just woken up and was still in his sweatpants and t-shirt . . . well, Brian’s t-shirt to be precise – and a dirty one at that. He’d dug through the laundry hamper, sniffing each shirt until he found the stinkiest one of all. He padded into the kitchen behind her, curious to see what she’d brought them.

“Kraft Mac and Cheese . . . I wouldn’t have survived my last couple of months when I was pregnant without it. Peppermint oil – a sniff helps take the edge off morning sickness, which, just you wait, Sunshine, will make your lives hell on earth. Tell Brian to put some on a Kleenex and breathe it in when he starts feeling sick.” 

She took each item out of the bags and set them on the counter. Justin yawned and stretched. “I thought we were _already_ in hell,” he said.

Deb just looked at him with an expression of pity and went back to unpacking the bags. She held up something that looked like a large, deflated, flesh-colored tire tube.

“What the hell is _that_?” Justin said, cringing away from it as though it was emanating a foul stench.

“That,” Deb said, “is called a ‘belly band.’ It’s for when Brian starts to show. He can keep wearing his usual pants unzipped, and this will cover up the open fly seamlessly. Voila! No need for a moo-moo! At least not until his third trimester.”

 _A moo-moo!_ “Please, Deb,” Justin groaned. “Please tell me there are no moo-moos in those bags. Being given a moo-moo will cause Brian to lose what little will he has left to live.”

Deb cracked up. “Now _that_ would be something I’d pay to see! Brian Kinney in a moo-moo and fuzzy slippers! Shit, I almost swallowed my gum.”

She reached back into her magic bags of scary.

“Ah-ha! Dental floss . . .”

“Brian already has some,” Justin said.

“But is it super-duper soft? Pregnancy is going to make his gums sore and sensitive – even the smallest bit of something that gets under them is gonna bug the shit out of him, and he can’t be flossing with the barbed wire I bet he currently uses.”

“Brian’s _gums_ are going to be sore?” Justin squeaked. “Jesus Christ! What part of him isn’t going to be negatively impacted in some way?”

Deb paused and thought for a moment. “No part. Being pregnant is no walk in the fucking park, Sunshine, and don’t forget it for a second. Just remember that every time you want to strangle the living shit out of him, he’s dealing with a lot of continuous discomfort. God, help us! Ah, here we go. Tums. Brian’s not gonna be able to even _look_ at food without getting heartburn.”

Justin scrubbed his face with his hands. “Remind me,” he said. “Why would any woman in her right mind subject herself to being pregnant?”

“Honey, do you want the human species to die out? Okay, there’s your answer. Someone’s gotta do it, although if I had my way, it’d be both sexes all the time, but no one asked me, so were stuck with things the way they are . . . except for you two, of course. Jesus Christ! I will _never_ get over the shock of finding out that Brian of all people is up the flag pole! Ha ha! Every morning when I wake up and remember, it makes my whole fucking day before it’s even started.”

Justin smiled and wandered into the kitchen feeling aimless. He’d been feeling aimless ever since Brian had been moved to Dr. Bernstein’s office.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“No time,” Deb said. “Got my shift at the diner in half an hour. Okay, now here’s some Shea butter skin cream for that big ol’ belly he’ll be getting, some prenatal vitamins, although they’re just the basics. You’ll wanna check in with doctor what’s-his-name for more specific ones. Breathe Right nose strips – I know he already makes those cute, little wheezing sounds when he sleeps, but before long, he’ll be snoring like a hibernating bear. These are more for you than him. Oh, and wax-lined barf bags – gotta have these handy. I carried them in my purse; I don’t know how the fuck Brian’ll carry them . . . Here’re some energy bars – can’t tell you what they taste like, but make sure you get the less sugary kind. Sugar goes straight to baby and’ll give him or her a sweet tooth even before being born . . .”

Justin made a face. Really? “Deb, how much of this is real and how much is just made up by women . . . ?”

She turned on him with a glare that could melt glaciers. “Who the fuck do you think’s been pumping out babies since the fucking dawn of time? Certainly not all those male fucking doctors who’re always saying ‘do this’ and ‘don’t do that.’ That doctor of yours is gonna read all kinds of fucking doctor books, but the only people you should listen to in the end are your mothers . . .well, not Brian’s, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if she drank fucking lye to try and get rid of him. Did you know Brian came damn close to being aborted? His fucking father didn’t want him and was sure to let Brian know about it when he was drunk. Said he already had enough shit on his plate with Claire. Selfish prick! If Joan did try to get rid of Brian somehow, she failed.” Deb looked up at the ceiling and crossed herself.

Justin froze. He had no idea Brian’s mother had almost gotten an abortion! He felt sick for a moment when he tried to imagine a world that’d never had Brian in it. And to know that Brian had been told by his own father (and who knew, maybe even his mother too) that he should’ve been aborted! How young had Brian been when his father (and/or mother) told him that? Justin went to the table. He had to sit down.

“Oh, shit,” Deb said. “Shit. He’s never said anything? Well, he never told me either. It was Michael who told me. Shit, I’m sorry, Sunshine. This was neither the time nor place . . .”

“It’s okay,” he replied. “I’d rather know than not know.” He placed his head on the table and rocked it side to side. “Goddamn it! I _hate_ those fucking people! It’s a good thing that his father’s dead because I’d go to jail for strangling him with my bare hands. Trying to figure out what to do is already hard enough for Brian. I had no idea this shit was part of the equation. Fuck.”

At that moment, all Justin wanted was to be with Brian and hold him close. Was there more he’d never told anyone – except maybe Michael – about his childhood? There had to be. And probably _a lot_ more was inevitably going to be stirred up by the pregnancy. And what were the chances he’d be able to get Brian to talk about it all?

Surprisingly, Justin suddenly wished Michael knew that Brian was pregnant. Michael was an easy clam to pry open, and Justin felt like he needed to know _everything_ that Michael knew – and soon! The life of his and Brian’s baby might depend on it!

Deb cleared her throat, and Justin lifted his head and looked her.

“Back to the fun stuff,” she said. “Here’s an inflatable ‘baby bump nest pillow’ that Brian can carry with him for when he needs to lie down. He’s got a couch in his office, right? His hips and lower back are going to get really sore and make it hard for him to sleep. This’ll help.”

Justin smiled. A baby bump nest! Brian was going to hate it on sight – at least until he realized how much easier it would make his day-to-day life. God, Justin couldn’t wait to see and touch and kiss that bump! How was he going to be able to keep his hands off it?

“. . . and here’s some chap stick, his lips are going to be dry . . . and, Jesus, don’t tell him until you have to that his skin is going to break out. He’s going to have a fit! And here’s a book about breastfeeding. I flipped through it, and it looks good. There’re some great how-to diagrams . . .”

“Uhm, Deb?” Justin said tentatively. “I think we might want to hold back on the breastfeeding stuff for a while.”

“Why? He _is_ going to nurse, right? He better be or I’ll come over here and slap him upside the head! A baby needs its mother’s . . . er, father’s milk – especially for the first six months!”

“Deb,” Justin said in his Brian-soothing voice. “We don’t even know yet whether he _can_ breastfeed. It might not even be possible.”

Deb stared at him. “Well, that’d be fucking stupid,” she said. “It may take a while for some mothers, but eventually every woman can – and will – produce milk.”

“Brian is not a ‘mother,’” Justin said. “He’s a man with some whacky, one-in-a-billion, genetic shit going on. His penis isn’t going to fall off . . . at least I _hope_ not, but I think Dr. Bernstein would’ve said something if it was. He’s not going to grow a vagina. He’s still going to have all his male reproductive organs. He’s still going to produce semen. He’s still going to have hair on his chest . . .”

“What little there is of it,” Deb chuckled. “Bless him. He’s always been wanting in the chest hair department. Now Michael . . .”

Ew. Just ew.

“. . . he’s still going to grow whiskers, and he’s still going to have a man’s muscles. His tits aren’t going to get all floppy and gross . . .”

“Stop right there,” Deb said, shaking a finger at him. “A woman’s breasts are beautiful, no matter what size they are!”

“Uhm . . . okay. My bad,” Justin replied. “All I’m saying is that other than having a big belly, he’s not going to be some kind of circus freak.”

“I read somewhere that male bats lactate . . .”

“Great. So now Brian is part bat. That news will be sure to cheer him up.”

“All I’m saying is that the plumbing’s the same. It’s all hormonal and shit.” 

“Maybe,” Justin said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that if Brian really _can_ nurse, that doesn’t mean he’ll be able to mentally handle the implications.”

“What fucking implications? The implication he’s able to nourish and protect his newborn? Well, I’ve got news for him: Either he sticks his tit in his baby’s mouth and lets it drink, or he’s gonna be leaking milk all over the place. What’s going to suck more? Pun intended of course.” Deb broke out laughing. “Okay. Gotta get to the diner. Like I said, come by the house so you can pick up the groceries I bought.”

Justin chuckled as he walked her to the door. It was hard to be anxious and unhappy when Deb was around.

 

Somehow, Justin dragged himself to PIFA for his afternoon classes. It wasn’t as though he had no desire to draw; it was just that he had no desire to draw the stuff he was supposed to, like fruit bowls and female nudes and shit like that. What he _really_ wanted to draw was Brian’s belly – imagining it at every stage of his pregnancy, first with just a barely noticeable bump and then huge and full of baby. Just _thinking_ about it gave him the hard-on of all hard-ons, and he found himself having to go to the Jeep during break to jerk off. God, he hoped Brian would pose for him! Or at least let him take photos so he could use them to draw from. Brian was going to be _so_ beautiful, blotchy complexion and all.

He was hurriedly packing up his stuff at the end of his last class when Ethan Gold walked in the room. Justin’s stomach sank. Ethan was pretty much the last person on earth he wanted to deal with. He’d rather be stuck on a beached Disney cruise ship with no one but Michael and Mysterious Marilyn as travel companions in a two-man cabin with a stopped-up toilet.

“Hey,” Ethan said.

“Hey,” Justin felt compelled by his WASP upbringing to reply.

“How’re things?” Ethan asked, shambling over with his weird, bow-legged gait.

_How’re things? Well, my boyfriend is pregnant and currently detoxing from half a lifetime of alcoholism and drug abuse. He still isn’t absolutely sure he’s going to keep the baby, and everything depends on whether he can get sober and stay sober. Meanwhile, I’m freaking the fuck out because I don’t want him to have an abortion; I’m seriously disturbed by the hard time he’s having going cold turkey, and my best friend and I aren’t speaking to each other. Thanks for asking, and how are you?_

“Fine. You?”

“Shitty.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“Look, I gotta go . . .”

“Wait! I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t practice my violin. I can’t sleep. I _need_ you.”

Really? _Really?_

“You don’t need me,” Justin replied, quite certain of the truth of his statement.

“But I do! I need to touch you. I need to kiss you. I need to make love with you. I’ll die if I can’t.”

“I’m pretty certain you won’t.”

“You’re my moon, my stars, my whole life.”

Justin closed his eyes wearily. A month ago those words would’ve dazzled him and filled him with romantic longing. He’d go back to the loft and listen dreamily to Ethan’s CD, and when Brian came home and griped about work, he’d feel annoyed and unloved.

What a crock of boiled shit.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not,” he said.

“How can you know what’s in my heart without letting me show it to you?”

Justin really didn’t give a flying fuck. Right at that moment, Brian was lying in a hospital bed still shaky and weak. He’d lost ten pounds – ten precious pounds. He was exhausted and probably longing to go home, but at the same time afraid to . . . afraid that he’ll start drinking again. He looked haunted and unhappy, and Justin wanted nothing more in the whole world than to lie down beside him and hold him and kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, to smooth the hair away from his brow and look into his eyes. Every fiber of his being yearned to be with Brian; in fact he felt like he was giving Nature the finger by not being there. He had to get the fuck out of there! He was about to speak when suddenly Ethan was there, grabbing his arms and trying to kiss him . . .

Justin acted instinctively. He shoved Ethan away with more force than was necessary and watched him fall on his ass, his violin case skittering across the floor. Justin knelt beside him.

“I could kill you right now,” he said calmly. “It wouldn’t faze me at all. You think you know what love is? You don’t have a _clue_ , and neither did I when I longed to be seduced by you. But _now_ I know what love is, and it’s not roses and chocolate. It’s not even violin music. It’s not pretty or easy. It’s messy and complicated. And right now, it is screaming at me to saw off your head with your bow.”

He stood up. Ethan hadn’t moved. He was staring up at Justin in pure astonishment. Justin shouldered his bag.

“Do not come near me again. You’ve been warned,” he said and walked out of the room without looking back.

 

When he arrived at Dr. Bernstein’s office a half an hour later, he saw Brian up, dressed and gathering his things.

“You’re coming home,” Justin said, trying not to sound as excited as he felt. Overwrought emotion was _not_ what Brian needed at the moment.

“Yup,” Brian replied. “Is the loft ready?”

“All alcohol, drugs and cigarettes accounted for and disposed of. Unless you have a stash hidden in a hollowed out book or behind a secret wall panel, your home is temptation free.”

Brian snorted. “Now you just need to make Liberty Ave – and probably the whole rest of Pittsburgh temptation free.”

Doctor Bernstein approached and laid his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “You know yourself better than anyone else,” he said. “Watch for the red flags and listen to the warning bells. But most of all, be honest with those around you – and most importantly with yourself.”

“Thank you, Dr. Dalai Lama,” Brian said. “See you in . . .

“. . . a week.”

“Right. A week. Oh, and Doc? You better let Sunshine here know he’s still a daddy or he’ll be vibrating all night with angst and driving me up the fucking wall.”

Justin felt suddenly light-headed. He’d desperately wanted to know how the baby was, but he’d been afraid to ask the doctor in Brian’s presence . . . and he’d also been afraid to hear the answer. Now he knew. Brian was still pregnant. Pregnant and sober. Justin would’ve dropped Brian’s bags and thrown his arms around Brian’s neck if Brian was anyone but Brian. Instead he just grinned his head off, causing Brian to roll his eyes.

“It’s true,” Dr. Bernstein said. “Baby is alive and thriving. And besides being a little bit weak and shaky, daddy is too.”

“Wait a minute,” Justin said. “I thought _I_ was ‘daddy.’”

Doctor Bernstein suddenly vanished. Justin was surprised he hadn’t left behind a puff of smoke.

“We have eight months to sort that out,” Brian said. “In the meantime, I’m fucking hungry . . . and I probably should make an appearance at the diner.”

Justin grinned again. “Can I kiss you now that the doctor’s gone?” he asked.

“I suppose,” Brian grumbled. “If you must.”

Suddenly, Justin was at a loss. What should he do? Should he throw himself at Brian and cover every inch of exposed skin with kisses? Should he cup Brian’s face in both hands and kiss him till he couldn’t breathe? Should he merely touch Brian’s mouth with his and brush Brian’s cheek with his fingers?

“Oh, for fuck sake,” Brian said, crossing the short distance between them. He leaned down and nuzzled his face against Justin’s hair, and then when Justin turned his head to look at him, Brian took his mouth and kissed him. A real kiss. A mouth-opening, tongue touching, breath-catching kiss. Justin dropped Brian’s bags and reached up to comb his fingers into Brian’s hair as the kiss went on . . . and on.

“When we get home,” Brian said, pulling away, his voice low and husky. “Will you ride my cock? I want to watch you fuck yourself with it. I want you to turn around so I can watch you ride it, all slick and hard. I want you to lose your mind. I want to watch you make yourself come, all the while looking in your eyes. I want you to come on my face and then lick me clean and kiss me so I can taste you. I want you to squeeze the base of my cock when you come so tight you milk my orgasm right out of my balls. I want you to feel me throb inside you, filling the condom till it almost bursts.”

He took Justin’s hand and placed it on the hard-on testing the strength of his zipper. “Can you feel it? I’m so hard,” he whispered against Justin’s ear, raising goose-bumps all over Justin’s body. “I’m so fucking hard for you. Rub it.”

In the back of his mind, Justin thought it might be good to get home before going much farther, but then Brian was moving his hips, pressing his cock against Justin’s palm. 

“Gonna come in my jeans,” Brian murmured into Justin’s hair. He reached down and placed his hand on top of Justin’s, guiding it, showing Justin what he needed. “That’s it,” he said. “That’s it. Just a little harder. Head to balls. Ah!” Justin felt Brian’s cock lurch several times against his palm, and he looked down between them to watch a silver-dollar-sized circle of wetness darken the faded denim. And then, before his brain could process what was happening, Brian shoved his hand inside _his_ pants and under the waistband of his briefs. All it took were a few hard tugs, and he was coming. Brian withdrew his hand and licked his palm with long, broad sweeps of his tongue, his eyes never leaving Justin’s. Then as the coup de grace, he ran his still-sticky fingers through his hair, leaving his bangs spikey.

Jesus fucking Christ!

Nothing on earth was hotter than Brian’s command over Justin’s body, over their fucking and coming and all the millions of sensations before and after. He was in control, and he knew it. Reveled in it. The rock-hard, perfect cock that everyone wanted but only a few have had. The prized stud. The master. The man.

Brian kissed him, his tongue still tasting of come. “Let’s go,” he said. “And get my fucking appearance over with so we can go home and fuck some more. That didn’t even come _close_ to emptying my balls.”

 

There was no applause this time when Brian and Justin walked through the door of the diner. No one except Team Cold Turkey knew where Brian had been or about the ordeal he’d endured. For all the average patron knew, Brian had had the flu or something. He was paler and thinner than usual, but the overall package was still the same Brian Kinney that all Liberty Avenue loved, reviled and envied.

All of the Team was present. Deb had found out Brian was coming home that day and contacted everyone. There were the boys, of course, and Ben and Vic. Daphne, Mel and Linds were there too, and so was Justin’s mother. They all knew it wasn’t easy for Brian to be there. They’d all seen him at his absolute worst. Justin was proud of him for coming out to thank them all in person, and he could tell Deb was too. She hugged him long and close, and whispered something in his ear that Justin couldn’t hear but that made Brian laugh.

“So,” Brian said, his hands in his coat pocket and his pale cheeks pink with chagrin at having to face people who knew more about him now than he would’ve ever willingly revealed in a million years. He cleared his throat. “I . . . uhm . . . right, okay, here we go: I want to thank you guys for helping me out during a pretty fucking, shitty time in my life. I probably could’ve done it without you, but I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Everyone rolled their eyes fondly and applauded. Michael was bopping up and down in his seat like a kernel of corn in a popcorn maker all the while patting the empty bench beside him. Brian slid in and threw his arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“How ya doing there, Mikey?” he asked. “Keeping all the queers at Babylon in line?”

Michael grinned. “There’s only one queer capable of doing that,” he said. “Speaking of which, are you ever going to go there again?”

Brian seemed to think for a moment, and everyone waited for his answer with baited breath. “We’ll see,” he replied after a moment. “I hope so. I didn’t go cold turkey on dancing and fucking.”

Suddenly . . .

. . . the world receded as though Justin was on a ship pulling out of a harbor at record speed and watching the shore disappear under the horizon.

He felt his gorge rise. Why hadn’t he thought about the possibility that Brian might start tricking again? How hadn’t that idea even crossed his mind? After all, Brian had been tricking since the day Justin had first met him - in fact he, himself, had been a trick. Nonetheless he felt the world tilt back and forth unpleasantly as though he was riding a rickety roller coaster after having eaten too much fried dough.

Before he could look away and put on a mask of indifference, he caught Daphne’s eyes. They weren’t full of condemnation as he’d expected; instead they were dark, warm pools of empathy. He felt Deb squeeze the back of his neck consolingly. Jesus, what was his face giving away? Fortunately, Brian was caught up in some tale Emmett was telling and apparently hadn’t noticed Justin’s reaction to his words.

Brian. Beautiful, coveted Brian Kinney. When he danced, oblivious to the world, all desired him - his dark hair, his sweat-slicked skin, his body loose and limber under their hands. Moving muscle, hot and hard . . .

Justin was pretty sure he was going to puke. He slipped out of the booth he was sharing with his mom and went to the bathroom where he braced his hands on the sink and looked at his face in the smudged mirror. He looked dazed, like a man just gored by a bull but not yet aware he was going to die.

Brian was going to trick again. He was going to remove his clothes, revealing his body, and other men were going to touch him and suck him and rim him. Other men were going to finger him and lick his balls. Other guys were going to kiss and play with his nipples, and Brian was going to do the same to them. Brian would be spreading his legs and arching his back and moaning encouragement while all the while their baby was growing inside him . . .

. . . the feeling that he might throw up turned into reality.

Oh God! It felt like someone had cracked open his ribcage like the shell of a boiled lobster and was pulling his heart out. The pain shot through his whole body, making him writhe against the wall as though he was nothing but pain’s marionette puppet. How was he going to go back out there? How was he going to be able to go back to the loft with Brian? How was he going to be able to let Brian fuck him while the whole time he was thinking of all the other countless guys Brian was going to fuck just as long, just as hard, just as passionately.

Suddenly, it hit him like a bullet to the head. He couldn’t do it. It was like the moment in the marathon he’d tried to run when he was sixteen. Right around the twenty-first mile it’d dawned on him. He wasn’t going to be able to finish. His body had put its foot down. It was simply done, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But what was he going to do? Where was he going to go? He couldn’t go to Daphne’s, he just couldn’t. She would never say ‘I told you so,’ but even the thought that she might was unbearable. Maybe he could go to his mom’s. Or to Deb’s. That option sounded the most appealing, but it would be the first place Brian would look, and he’d be pissed as hell that Justin had gone to the one person Brian knew was aware of his pregnancy. What about a hotel room? But how long could he afford that . . . ?

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Justin? Can I come in?” It was an angel's voice. Daphne.

“Why? So you can gloat? No thank you,” he replied.

“No. God, Jus," she said. "I can’t believe you’d even think that! You gave me a choice the other day: to accept the fact that you wanted your baby or to lose your friendship. It was pretty much a no-brainer. Nothing ever will make me stop loving you and wanting to help you. Now, please let me in.”

Justin closed his eyes and let a kiss of relief touch him. “Okay," he said. "But I have to warn you that I puked and it smells like vomit in here.”

“I don’t care," the beloved voice said. "It’s not like I haven’t ever smelled your barf before.”

He laughed weakly and unlocked the door. She immediately entered and flung herself into his arms.

“What’re you going to do?” she asked without pulling away, without even needing to ask why he'd fled.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. If he spoke any louder, he knew his voice would crack, and when it did, he’d start to cry. If there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was cry.

“I’ve got a friend,” Daphne said. “She’s doing her first residency, and she’s never home, which really sucks for her because she has a dog and she worries he’s lonely. I bet you anything she’d let you crash there for little or no rent.”

Justin tightened his fists in her coat. Was he really considering it? Was he really considering moving out of the loft?

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. “All I know is I can’t watch him fucking other guys – I don’t even know if I can bear even _even_ thinking about it.” He actually felt his stomach flip-flop again!

“Well, there’s one thing for sure,” she said. “You can’t leave him alone right now. You have to think of the baby. Who knows what you leaving might do to him? His sobriety is so new and so frail, and he's so vulnerable.”

Justin groaned with agony – literal agony. “Then I’m trapped,” he said. “I have no choice but to watch him go back to fucking every mouth and asshole that presents itself – and even if I’m not actually watching, I’ll be obsessing over it. How can I not?” He bit his lip to stop himself from crying. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. It would break him like a dry twig. Like a dying tree in a hurricane.

For just a fleeting moment, an abortion seemed like not the worst thing that could happen because it was the knowledge of the baby growing in Brian’s belly that was going to make Brian’s tricking unbearable. Brian was growing a piece of each of them bound together into a fragile, miraculous life, and every time Brian came in someone’s mouth or ass, the baby would feel the contractions. Maybe not now, but at some point in the future. The baby would feel its father’s body climax in overwhelming pleasure with someone else!

But how could he go? How could he save himself and not damn Brian and their baby?

And then the idea hit him. The perfect, heaven-sent idea. Brian needed someone living with him to help keep him sober, someone who loved him and would lay down his life to keep him safe, someone Brian loved and trusted in return . . .

. . . someone like Michael.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting fact: Apparently under the right circumstances and with a lot of prior stimulation of his nipples, a man _can_ produce enough milk to feed a newborn. It's all about the pituitary gland.


	9. Mr. Barkley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin moves out. Michael moves in. And Brian's got a big surprise for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Justin is being a bit short-sighted to say the least, but I'm not unsympathetic.

“What the fuck’s up with you?” Brian asked after they left the diner and got in the Jeep. “Food poisoning? I’m the one who should be puking his guts out, not you.”

Justin was looking out the side window as they drove, trying to figure out how to raise the possibility of moving out – just for a little while – and letting Michael take his place. He was all but certain that when Brian started to show, he’d stop tricking, but until then . . .

“Out with it,” Brian said.

“Out with it?”

“That’s what I said. C’mon, man-up.”

Justin took a deep breath. Why pussy-foot around and leave things vague and open for misinterpretation?

“So, you’re going to start tricking again.” It wasn’t a question.

They were stopped at a red light. Brian turned to look at him.

“Remind me,” he said evenly. “When did I stop? Because I don’t remember.” The light turned green. “I recall agreeing to get sober, but I don’t recall saying I’d stop fucking. What? Are you worried I’ll pick up an STD or something? I never have before, and I’ve been fucking since I was fourteen.”

Justin continued looking out the window. They were silent all the way to the loft. Brian parked the Jeep in his spot and got out. Justin didn’t follow him. After a minute, Brian got back in.

“I think we better get something straight,” Brian said. “I may be carrying a fetus . . .”

“A ‘baby,’” Justin interrupted him.

“Okay, a _baby_ , but that does _not_ mean you have some kind of say – beyond the purposes of health and sobriety – about what I can and cannot do with my body. It’s still mine and mine alone, and I’m going to use it to fuck as much as I can until . . . Christ, I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this . . . until I get a baby bump. Got it?”

Justin tried to suppress his anger, but the effort only made it more evident. “Loud and clear,” he snarled.

“Good. Now, I’m going up to the loft. Are you coming or are you going to sit out here sulking?”

Justin wrapped his arms around himself as though he was about to fly apart. “I’ll come up,” he replied, “but only so I can pack my things.”

He glanced at Brian. He looked dumbfounded.

“What?” Justin snapped. “You thought I was going to just sit on my ass twiddling my thumbs while you go around fucking everything that moves with our baby inside of you?”

Brian ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. “I _cannot_ believe we’re having this conversation,” he said, his voice full of stunned bewilderment. “Are you saying you’re leaving me?”

The question was enough to jolt Justin out of his surly slump. “Fuck, no!” he said. “I’m not breaking up with you! In fact, that’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent! If we’re living apart for your first trimester, I won’t be constantly having to cope day and night with your fucking around . . .”

“Correction,” Brian said. “I’m not ‘fucking around,’ I’m fucking. There’s a difference.”

Justin laughed ruefully. “I’m sure there is,” he said. “In your head at least.”

They sat in silence, both of them staring ahead through the film of April dirt on the windshield. Maybe, Justin thought, maybe this would be enough to get Brian to change his ways . . .

“Fine,” Brian said, opening the door and getting out. “Pack your shit. I’ll drive you to wherever the hell it is that you’ll be living.” He slammed the door behind him and began walking to the back entrance to his building. Justin ran after him, suddenly panicking.

“This isn’t going to make you start drinking again?” he asked. “Because if it is . . .”

Brian didn’t look at him. “Don’t go worrying your pretty little head about me,” he said nastily. “Just concentrate on school and being a total, fucking twat. Meanwhile, I’ll work on growing a baby and trying to get as much of my shit in a pile as possible so I can disappear for God only knows how long – oh, and fuck of course. Don’t wanna forget about that.”

They didn’t speak as the rode the elevator to the top floor. Justin had never before been so grateful for the racket it made. When they got out, Brian wrenched the door open and then slammed it behind him with impressive force.

“You’re angry,” Justin said.

Brian dropped his bags and wheeled around to face him. “You’re Goddamn right I’m angry!” he shouted. “Now get your shit together and get out. Fuck driving you; I’m calling you a cab.”

“Fuck _me_?” Justin yelled right back. “You’re the one who doesn’t give a shit about my feelings – hell, you don’t even take them into consideration. You never have! I have to ask myself: why would that change now that you’re pregnant . . . ?”

“Yes, you _should_ ask yourself that,” Brian replied. “What? You thought the only reason I fuck is because I was an alcoholic drug addict?”

Justin looked at him, his chest heaving. It was actually a good question. Is that indeed what he’d always assumed?

“Well, it’s not. And why are you just standing here trying to burn two smoldering holes through me with your eyes? Get packing.”

Probably acting on autopilot, Brian went to kitchen and opened the cabinet where he’d kept his Jim Beam. “Fuck!” he yelled, slamming it shut.

Justin felt his heart stop. Someone needed to be with Brian – at least for the night. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Deb’s number, chiding himself for not having Michael on his list of contacts. 

“What do you want?” Michael barked.

Asshole.

“I want you to come over to the loft,” Justin replied. “I . . . I can’t stay with Brian, and I think someone should.”

Brian turned to him with an flabbergasted expression. Michael hadn’t yet responded, but Justin could hear him putting on his coat.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said and hung up.

Justin flipped his phone closed.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Brian said incredulously. “I literally cannot believe it. You called a fucking _babysitter_ for me?”

Justin went to him, but Brian backed away, mouth open with appalled astonishment, until he hit the fridge.

“That was Michael,” Justin said. “I didn’t call a ‘babysitter,’ I called your best friend.”

Brian just boggled at him as though Justin had spoken to him in Mandarin.

“What happened to us being ‘partners’?” he shouted. “Where did all your boyfriend bullshit go? You’re sticking me with a _friend_? If anyone should – or needs to – be here, it’s _you_. What the fuck am I going to tell Michael when I develop morning sickness, which Bernstein has told me is pretty much a given? What’ll happen when I wake up in the middle of the night fucking freaking out over the fact that my life is going to change beyond recognition and I’m going to have to figure out how to be a father when my own was such a shitty role model?”

“Then you call me,” Justin said, trying to be soothing. “It’s not like I’m moving to Altoona or something.”

“You might as fucking well be,” Brian said angrily. “You’re being a fucking coward!”

“And you’re being a fucking dick! Literally! I simply _cannot_ be present when you’re fucking someone else! I can’t do it, Brian!”

“But you still haven’t sufficiently explained _why_ I should stop. I’m not going to do something I never did before. I’m not going to fall in fucking love with some backroom ass-licker. I’m just going to get my fucking rocks off like I always have. Are you telling me that you’ve spent every minute of the past one and a half years stewing in bile? Because if you have, you’ve never said anything to me about it.”

“I thought I _have_ explained it to you! Do you want me to write it down so you don’t have to rely on just my voice alone to understand? Brian, there is a _baby_ inside of you! A tiny, innocent, miraculous life!”

“So?!”

“So, I don’t want it tainted! I don’t want _you_ tainted! I don’t want some guy shoving a dildo up your ass and sucking on your tits! I don’t want you sitting on some guy’s face while you jerk off! I don’t want you coming because someone _else_ has made you horny! I want that person to be me and me alone! After the baby’s born, you can do whatever the fuck you want. I won’t give a shit, but right now you’re sharing your body with another person who happens to be half me . . . !”

Suddenly the door clanged open, and both of them jumped. Michael entered carrying a shitload of greasy take-out food.

Great. Just fucking great. Just what the baby needed. Burger King and KFC.

“Hey,” Michael said fondly to Brian and then turned a withering gaze on Justin. “What are you still doing here?”

Brian’s mouth twisted in an ugly smirk. “He was just leaving, weren’t you, Sunshine?”

Justin stared at him, suddenly worried that he’d made a very big fucking mistake. He was about to temporarily lose any influence he may have had over Brian’s life.

“I can stay for dinner,” he said with a friendly shrug.

“No, you can’t,” Brian replied, his voice icy.

Justin looked at him, pleading with his eyes for him to understand, to forgive him for not being strong enough to stay.

Brian’s cell phone was on the island counter. He picked it up, flipped it open and dialed.

“Hello,” he said to whoever was on the other end. “I want to order a cab for a Mr. Justin Taylor.”

 

Daphne opened her door, took one look at him and pulled him inside. Probably intuiting that this wasn’t the time to talk, she merely picked up the phone.

“Carolyn?” she said into the receiver. “Hi, it’s Daphne. Are you home? Good. Remember the friend I told you about? Well, he’d like to take you up on the offer to stay at your place. Yes, of course you can meet him. We can come over right now if you have time. Great. We’ll be there soon.”

He was hot in his parka and the close, humid warmth of Daphne’s apartment was stifling, but all the same he was shivering all over as though he’d just disembarked from a plane onto the frozen Alaskan tundra.

“How’d he take it?” Daphne asked carefully, but Justin could only hold up his hand and shake his head. He couldn’t even think about Brian, let alone discuss him and their fallout.

Daphne nodded with understanding. “Just assure me that he’s not alone,” she said. “Is someone there with him?”

Justin nodded.

“Good.” She gave him a tentative smile. “Okay, let’s go to Carolyn’s. She lives only two blocks from here.”

He followed her out the door, down the stairs and into the street, his mind nothing more than an empty vessel sitting on top of his neck. When they came to a three-story house painted an unfortunate yellowish hue, Daphne’s friend met them on the porch crowded with bicycles and skis. She had long light brown hair that was tied in a loose knot, and she was wearing a hippy skirt and a ratty John Hopkins sweatshirt. She hugged Daphne and shook Justin’s hand.

“This is Mr. Barkley,” she said when they walked into her apartment. Mr. Barkley was the muttliest mutt Justin had ever seen, and he would have laughed if he’d been capable of making any sound except an agonized moan.

“And here’s the spare bedroom. Sorry it’s full of shit, but at least there’s a bed and a closet and all the light fixtures work.”

Justin dropped his bags and looked around. The room was small, but there were two windows that looked out on what was once presumably a backyard but now was a grass lot full of battered student cars with out-of-state plates.

“I won’t be around much,” Carolyn said, “so if you could take care of Mr. Barkley – you know, give him walks and stuff and make sure he has food and water – you can stay as long as you want as long as you pay your half of the utilities and buy your own food.”

Justin nodded distractedly. Carolyn cocked her head and gave him a funny look. Daphne intuited her question.

“Just left his boyfriend,” she said sadly, rubbing Justin’s back with a pink-mittened hand.

“Ugh,” Carolyn said. “Sorry to hear it. Well, I gotta run. Make yourself comfortable – oh and Mr. Barkley will need to go out right before you go to bed.”

She disappeared somewhere in the labyrinth of narrow hallways with their uneven hardwood floors. He sat down heavily on the bed. He was pretty sure that he was not going to be okay, but he just smiled and shook his head at Daphne when she told him she had to meet a study group and asked if he wanted to come along for the company.

And then she was gone. Mr. Barkley clicked into the room on long-toenailed feet, sniffed at Justin’s bags and then casually lifted his hind leg and peed on them.

 

Days passed, but all Justin was really aware of was the sickening ache in his stomach that no amount of Pepto-Bismol could alleviate. People called and left messages, but not Brian – or Michael. He couldn’t eat more than a bowl of cereal in the morning and half a sandwich for dinner. No one knew where he was living, and he’d made Daphne swear not to tell anyone. He was pretty sure that if Deb found out, she’d hunt down the address and give him a metric fuck-ton of shit. He would too if he was her.

Mr. Barkley was a dick, but walking him was a relief. It gave Justin a chance to get out and walk around a bit. The weather was slowly getting warmer. When April 26th rolled around, Justin bought a cupcake and put a candle in it. His and Brian’s baby was officially one month old. God knows; Brian probably wasn’t even aware of it and was fucking his brains out somewhere.

When he could no longer stand it, he called Emmett to ask him how Brian was doing but only after making him first promise that he wouldn’t tell anyone he’d called. Emmett told him that Brian had started going to Woody’s and Babylon again, but that as far as he knew, Brian wasn’t drinking or doing drugs. Justin was relieved, but still a masochistic part of him needed to know whether Brian was fucking. When he asked, Emmett just laughed. “Does the earth circle the sun? Does Liza Minnelli have a weight problem?” he asked. To him it was amusing. To Justin, it was an arrow through the heart. 

“Did you know Michael’s living at the loft?” Emmett asked. “It’s totally weird. Ben seems okay with it, but Teddy and I think it’s a really bad idea. Michael had started detoxing from Brian, but now it seems he’s back to panting over Brian like a cute but horny little puppydog. By the way – why’d you move out or is that all hush-hushedy?”

“It’s just temporary,” Justin replied.

“Good,” Emmett said. “Brian needs more than one person looking out for him. He’s sick a lot. He claims it’s the flu, but none of us believe it. I’m beginning to think he’s bulimic or something. They say a lot of times when someone kicks a substance addiction, they develop other compulsive behaviors. . . . Justin?

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Justin replied. “But I gotta go. Thanks for the update, Em.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Don’t be gone too long.”

 _Don’t be gone too long_.

Justin hung up and called Dr. Bernstein. The doctor didn’t even try to disguise his anger.

“I’m just going to assume that your poor judgment is due to your young age and leave it at that,” he said. “What can I help you with?”

Justin swallowed the lump that had lodged in his throat at the doctor’s words. “How’s he doing?” he asked.

“There is such a thing as patient confidentiality,” Dr. Bernstein replied. “And Brian has told me to strictly respect it – even when it comes to you.”

Well, that answered that question. Brian was still angry.

Justin cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded rough when he spoke. “Okay, I won’t ask anything specific. I just want to know how soon a male pregnancy will start to show. Is it at twelve to sixteen weeks like it is in women?”

“It generally doesn’t take that long,” Dr. Bernstein replied. “There’s less space – for lack of a better term – in a man’s body, and if we’re hypothetically talking about Brian, then I’m expecting it’ll be more like eight weeks.”

Justin sat down before he could fall down. Thank God! That meant Brian had only one more month of fucking left, and Justin could move back in. He felt faint with relief.

Dr. Bernstein sighed loudly. “He hasn’t told me why you left him . . .”

“I _didn’t_ leave him,” Justin interrupted. “I just needed to move out for a little while. I still love him. I’m still going to help him carry our baby . . .”

Was that a snort he heard? Did Dr. Bernstein just _snort_ at him? What the fuck?

“What’s going on?” Justin asked warily. “Is there something I should know about?”

Was that _another_ snort??

“Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not laughing at _you_ ,” Dr. Bernstein replied. “I’m laughing (ruefully, by the way) at the situation, not you.”

“And why’s that?” Justin asked. “Fuck HIPPA. Tell me. This isn’t only about Brian – this is about me too; the baby he is carrying is both of ours.”

Dr. Bernstein snorted again. Justin was about to hang up on him when the doctor spoke.

“The baby?” he said.

Justin’s heart plummeted. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Then he had an abortion,” Justin said as a part of him wilted, decayed and turned to dust.

“No, he did not have an abortion,” Dr. Bernstein said. “But he _is_ having twins.”

 

Justin opened seven cans of dog food, filled two bowls with water, laid newspaper all over the kitchen floor and locked Mr. Barkley inside. Carolyn would come home before the asshole died. Justin didn’t need to worry.

He left a hundred dollars and note to Carolyn apologizing for leaving so abruptly. Something, he wrote, had come up and he needed to move back home right away.

Then he called Daphne on his cell as he ran down the sidewalk, his bags bumping against his legs and almost sending him sprawling.

“Hey,” she said. “How’re you doing?”

“Twins!” Justin shouted. “Twins! Brian’s having twins!”

There was a stunned silence on Daphne’s end, and then she screeched a screech that would’ve made Debbie proud.

“Oh my God! Twins? Holy _shit_! How’d you find out? Have you talked to Brian?”

“His doctor told me,” Justin said, breathless from running so hard. “And, no, I haven’t talked to Brian yet, but I’m headed to the loft right now! Can you _fucking_ believe it?” He laughed manically like a crazy person; passersby gave him a wide berth.

“Are you . . . are you happy about this?” Daphne asked. “Is this a good thing?”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” he replied. “I’m _deliriously_ happy!”

“But won’t this make the pregnancy more dangerous?” she asked. “I mean, Brian’s body isn’t designed to carry even _one_ baby, let alone two.”

Justin stopped as though he’d slammed into an invisible wall.

“Justin? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” he said faintly. “I’m still here.”

“Are . . . are you okay? Did you just get hit by a car or something?”

 _No_ , he thought. _More like a sledgehammer._

“I have to go,” he said. “I need to catch a cab.”

“Justin?”

He hung up without replying.

 

He had _no_ idea what he’d encounter when he entered the loft, but a purple-faced, batshit Michael hadn’t even been on the list.

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” Michael yelled. “I SHOULD KILL YOU RATHER THAN LET YOU SET FOOT IN HERE!”

Justin stepped back in surprise, but then he quickly gathered his wits.

“Where’s Brian?” he asked.

“WHERE’S BRIAN . . . _WHERE’S BRIAN_! WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK?!”

Justin frowned. “Um, I honestly don’t know,” he replied.

“WELL, LET ME FILL YOU IN: HE’S WHERE HE ALWAYS IS – IN THE BATHROOM PUKING HIS GUTS OUT!”

Ah, now he understood.

“Okay,” Justin said gently as though he was talking to a crazy homeless zombie-person. “There’s no need to freak out . . .”

“NO NEED TO FREAK OUT??!! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Justin said.

“OF COURSE, THERE’S A FUCKING EXPLANATION; HE’S FUCKING _PREGNANT_ . . . WITH TWINS, NONETHELESS, AND YOU’RE THE FUCKING FATHER! I  HATE YOU!”

Justin just stared at him. So Michael knew. Who’d fucking told him? Deb? Brian? And when? Was this a recent discovery? And why the fuck did Michael _hate_ him? Sure, Justin had never thought Michael would be thrilled, but _hating_ him?

“What for?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

“‘WHAT FOR?!’ BECAUSE IT SHOULD’VE BEEN _ME_ , YOU ASSHOLE! IF BRIAN WAS GOING TO GET PREGNANT, I, NOT YOU, SHOULD’VE BEEN THE FATHER! I LOVE HIM! I’D TAKE CARE OF HIM! WHERE THE LIVING _FUCK_ HAVE _YOU_ BEEN?!”

Ah. It wasn’t a bad question, but the answer was private – something between him and Brian alone. Justin put his hands out in a calming gesture – the same gesture he’d been using with Mr. Barkley when something snapped in the crazy mutt’s chickpea-sized brain and made him go momentarily postal.

“I’m going to go see Brian,” he said soothingly. “I want him to know I’m here. After I see him, we can discuss this further.”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THERE TO DISCUSS? I HAVE NOTHING TO DISCUSS WITH _YOU_! I ONLY HAVE SOME VERY CHOICE WORDS I WANT TO SAY . . .”

“Okay, that’s fine,” Justin said, slowly inching around Michael without taking his eyes off him. Who knew when he might pounce? “How about you share them with me a little later. I’m sure you won’t have trouble remembering them.”

Finally, he was around Michael Cerberus Novotny. He ran up the stairs, calling Brian’s name.

“In here,” he heard through the bathroom door, followed by a retch.

Slowly, not knowing what to expect, Justin opened the door and went in. Brian was sitting with his arms wrapped around the toilet bowl, wearing nothing but jeans with the fly only half zippered. His hair was lank and the room stank of sweat and vomit.

Justin dropped to his knees.

“Hey,” he said shakily.

Brian retched again before he said “hey” back.

Justin reached out tentatively and gently cupped the back of Brian’s head with his hand.

“So, you made it past the gatekeeper,” Brian said with a weak chuckle.

“Barely,” Justin replied, brushing Brian’s clammy cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“If there was ever any doubt he was Deb’s son, it’s been expelled. You can hear him screech from a mile away. He’s making me crazy. Please tell me you’re moving back in, so I can send him back to the professor and vomit my guts out in peace.”

Justin wasn’t even aware he was crying until he felt the tear tracks growing cool on his face. “I’m so sorry,” he choked. “There are no words for how sorry I am.”

Brian snorted. “Sorry’s bullshit,” he said.

“Not in this case,” Justin replied. “My place was by your side, and if fucking made things easier in some way, even if it only made you happy, I should’ve been glad for you.”

Brian shrugged and then retched.

“Hear about Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum?”

Justin smiled and kissed his temple. “At least it’s not Larry, Curly and Moe.”

Brian laughed. “Well, if you’re back, make yourself useful and get me a Goddamn glass of ginger ale and some fucking oyster crackers.”

Justin wiped his tears away and blew his nose. “Are you ever able to leave the bathroom?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Brian replied, "but only if I stay near the kitchen sink.”

“Oh, baby,” Justin murmured against Brian’s hair, squeezing his eyes shut on more tears.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Brian said. “Now go get me my ginger ale, and while you’re at it, tell Mikey to come here. He and I need to have a little heart-to-heart before he leaves. So far, at least as far as I know, he hasn’t told anyone else. I’m pretty sure his mother doesn’t know about the twins. God, help me when she finds out. I’ll probably need cochlear replacement surgery. All I can say is that she better like changing diapers.”

“I love you,” Justin said. “I love you so much.”

“Oh for God’s sake, will you just get me some fucking crackers?”

Justin laughed the first real laugh he’s laughed in weeks and kissed Brian’s cheek. “As always,” he said. “Your wish is my command.”

“Damn well better be,” Brian replied. “Hop to, Sunshine.”

 

The blue light gleamed on Brian’s sweat-slicked chest as he arched his back while all the time moaning encouragement to the man nosily sucking his cock. His legs were spread wide, knees up, toes curling and uncurling.

“Do you want him to stick his finger in your ass?” Justin asked, his lips brushing Brian’s ear.

Brian answered with a sex-drenched hum of affirmance. His eyes were closed, but he laid his head back against Justin’s chest and smiled at him. Justin was seated behind him, cradling Brian’s body between his bent legs.

“Put a finger in his ass,” Justin told the guy. “Use lube. He likes things wet.”

The man let Brian’s rigid cock slip from his mouth for a moment. “My pleasure,” he said. He was beautiful. Justin gave him a bright, sunshiny smile. He’d fucked the guy earlier while the guy buried his face in Brian’s ass and rimmed him with delicious sloppiness. The whole time Justin was fucking him, he watched Brian on his knees and forearms, his perfect ass canted at just the right angle for the deepest penetration possible.

“Ah!” Brian gasped as he was breached. He spread his legs even wider and began moving his hips, fucking himself on the guy’s finger. Justin watched his belly, turned on beyond measure by the knowledge that their two little ones were in there – that he’d put them there when he came inside Brian’s body.

The solution seemed so obvious that both of them had marveled that they hadn’t thought of it before. Justin wasn’t jealous (a jealousy that both of them agreed was probably innate and instinctual and thus unamenable to reason) when he was present while Brian fucked other men. In fact, he loved helping the men make love to Brian’s body in a way that gave Brian the most pleasure – it was hotter than a hundred fiery hells.

“Tell him to use the beads,” Brian said. “Not the crazy Thai ones, just the regular ones.”

The man, of course, could hear Brian’s words and didn’t need Justin to direct him, but that was part of their play. It was Justin’s commands that mattered. Justin reached for the beads on the nightstand and slicked them generously with lube before handing them to the man between Brian’s legs.

“Put these in his ass and then pull them out again slowly as you suck him. Just . . . be careful.”

Brian laughed breathlessly as he arched his back while the man slid the beads inside him. “You’re something else, Sunshine,” he said. “It’s not like were using the pool-ball-sized beads.”

Justin groaned at the pre-pregnancy memory. God, that’d been fucking _hot_! It was amazing what Brian’s body was capable of.

“I need to come,” Brian said. “My balls are gonna explode.”

“Make him come,” Justin told the guy. “Deep throat his cock and start pulling the beads out.”

The guy did as directed. Brian arched his back and cried out. “ _Oh, Fuck!_ ” he panted and then sat up as he came. Justin kept his arms around Brian’s waist and pressed his face against Brian’s back. He placed one of his palms on Brian’s belly and felt Brian’s abdominal muscles contract.

“I wonder if they can feel that?” he whispered in Brian’s ear when he collapsed bonelessly against Justin’s chest.

“Would it upset you if they can?”

Justin thought for a moment as Brian’s aftershocks subsided.

“No,” he replied. “It’s part of what it’s all about – they’re inside your body. They’re going to experience things because of that. It’s . . . it’s kind of weirdly sexy actually.”

Brian huffed out a laugh and sat up. “Time for me to blow this guy and then go to sleep. I’m beat. No second round for me tonight.”

He turned to the guy. “I’m going to suck you off,” he said, “but I’m not going to swallow so let me know well ahead of time when you’re about to shoot.”

The guy didn’t complain and lay back with legs spread wide in invitation.

“Thanks,” Justin murmured before Brian left his arms to position himself for cock sucking. They’d agreed Brian wouldn’t swallow while he was pregnant. It just crossed a line for Justin. He didn’t want the babies absorbing some random guy’s semen. His, of course, was a different story. It was part of what had made them in the first place.

While Brian sucked the guy off, Justin traced little patterns on Brian’s back with his finger, making Brian hum with pleasure and the guy gasp. And then he traced the letters of two names:

Brytin and Justine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am way behind on replying to comments, but I'd promised I'd post this chapter and not leave you guys clinging to the Mikey Cliff.


	10. The Tragic, but Edifying, Tale of Georgie and Cotton Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One by one the family is finding out. Why is Brian telling people?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was time for a little levity, and I always find Michael quite good for that purpose. Poor Michael. Please remember that I actually like Michael (for the most part), but the story is being written through Justin's POV, and Justin is less forgiving than me of Michael's foibles.

A long long time ago in the dewy days of early childhood, Justin’s parents gave him two rabbits. Their names were Georgie and Cotton Tail. The former was male, the latter female, and they lived outdoors in a mesh-wire hutch separated from each other by a mesh-wire barrier. In the beginning, all was fine and good. Justin had been given the rabbits while they were cute, adorable, little bunnies, and he would play with them for hours out in the yard. Everyone was happy and their days were full of fun and joy . . . but then Georgie and Cotton Tail grew up and became big, fat and ill-tempered. Well, at least Georgie did. It was an alarming transformation that young Justin did not understand. Not only did Georgie turn into a complete asshole, but he started peeing all over Cotton Tail through the mesh-wire that separated them. Soon, Cotton Tail’s fur was matted and rank, and Georgie was a psychopath. It was a sad state of affairs that troubled our young Justin who could no longer play with them (and didn’t want to – who wants to frolic with a psychopathic rabbit and one that was matted and smelled like piss?).

One day, young Justin came home from school and found that the hutch had been removed and Georgie and Cotton Tail were gone. I’d like to say that our protagonist raged against a cruel world that had taken his rabbits away, but I’d be misrepresenting the situation. In fact, Justin had gotten pretty sick of having to feed them and clean out their nasty hutch, so he wasn’t too broken up about it. He was curious though. His mom with gentle words described a lovely place where Georgie and Cotton Tail were hopping and frolicking together in the greenest of green grass. His father, however, sensing that this was a ripe opportunity to teach young Justin the facts about the birds and the bees (and the bunnies), sat him down and told him what the deal was. Basically, it came down to this: Georgie was slowly going insane. The the poor bastard was separated by nothing but a little bit of wire from a fertile female, and every time she came into heat, he went ape-shit. So when he couldn’t mate with her, he did the next best thing and peed all over her day and night, marking her as his even though he’d never actually been with her in the Biblical sense.

In other words, they’d been unwittingly torturing Georgie past the point of the poor fucker’s endurance.

“But why did he pee on her?” young Justin asked.

“Because he couldn’t fuck her,” his father replied. “He had to do _something_ though, and pissing all over her was the only solution he could come up with.”

And the moral of the story? Fuck the object of your desire _or_ piss on him/or her. That was the option; apparently the only option.

And thus seemed the case when it came to Michael Novotny. Thwarted from impregnating Brian, Michael resorted to peeing on him – well, not _on_ him, but around him and only metaphorically. Michael had always tried to “mark his territory” when it came to Brian, but Brian’s obvious fecundity had pushed him into territory-marking overdrive. In other words, Michael was Georgie, and Brian was Cotton Tail.

It was not a pretty state of affairs, but it was amusing. It even made Brian laugh when he was tossing his cookies in Woody’s bathroom. Poor desperate Michael was a source of endless hilarity even to Emmett and Ted, who had no clue regarding the source of Michael’s obvious (and increasing) desperation.

Take Sunday morning at the diner for example.

Brian and Justin were running late (thanks to one of Brian’s close encounters with the toilet bowl), and the boys were already there when they arrived. The instant they were through the door, Michael leapt up out of the booth he was sharing with Emmett and Ted and made a beeline for Brian.

How was Brian?  
How had Brian slept?  
How had Brian felt when he woke up? Refreshed? Still tired?  
How was Brian’s stomach feeling? Did Brian need him, Michael, to go to the store to get anything?  
How was Brian’s back? Was it starting to ache? What about Brian’s knees and ankles?  
Was Brian craving any particular food?  
Was Brian grossed out by any particular food, because if he was, he, Michael, would tell the cooks not to make it while Brian was at the diner.  
Was Brian’s week at work too stressful? Should Brian start working part time?  
Should Brian still be going to the gym? Should he avoid certain forms of exercise?  
Was Brian taking his vitamins?  
Was Brian drinking enough water?  
Was Brian staying warm enough? How about cool enough?  
Was Brian avoiding monosodium glutamate? What about refined sugars and saturated fats?  
How were the arches of Brian’s feet? Should Brian be wearing special orthopedic shoes?  
Had Brian lost weight in the past twenty-four hours and if so, how much?  
Was Brian eating fruits and vegetables or were they too rough on Brian’s stomach?  
Did Brian want a shoulder rub?  
Did Brian want a backrub?  
Did Brian want a foot rub?  
Did Brian want him, Michael, to drop off or pick up his dry cleaning?  
Did Brian want him, Michael, to go grocery shopping?  
Was Brian lifting things from a squatting position? Or was Brian bending over to lift things, which Brian was not supposed to do?  
Did Brian want him, Michael, to throw himself down on top of a puddle so that Brian could walk on him and not have to get the soles of his shoes wet?

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Deb shrieked at him. “Will you leave the poor boy alone? Half those questions aren’t even relevant yet!”

“That’s assuming any of them ever will be,” Ted said, giving Michael a wary look.

“You can’t be too careful,” Michael grumbled. “And I doubt _somebody_ is even paying attention.”

Deb smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t you go making trouble where none exists,” she said. “Jesus Christ! I had no idea I raised you to be such a nervous nelly! Brian, honey, what’ll you be having this morning?” She flipped open her pad.

Brian had squeezed in next to Justin and Emmett much to Michael’s obvious chagrin. “Uhm,” he said, looking over the menu. “How ‘bout toast and bacon – a double helping . . .”

“What about some fruit?” Michael squawked. “Ma, add some fresh fruit to his order but make sure everything’s been thoroughly washed first.”

Brian nudged Justin with his foot, and Justin had to pretend to have a sneezing fit to keep from laughing. Deb winked at him.

“I hope you’re not sick,” Michael said to him in an annoying, supercilious voice. “Brian can’t be catching colds and flus, you know.”

“Christ, Bri,” Ted said. “When did you turn into a wee, delicate flower? One of the costs of sobriety?”

“Ha ha,” Brian said without looking at him. He folded his newspaper to the crossword puzzle. “Deb,” he yelled. “Gotta pencil?”

Michael’s head practically popped off. “Ma, don’t give him one! Pencils have lead in them!”

“Actually, honey, I’m pretty sure they don’t,” Emmett said soothingly. “I think real lead in pencils went the same way as real coke in Coke.”

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Michael grumbled.

“Hey, Bri,” Ted said. “Maybe you can buy a hermetically sealed containment apparatus on Ebay.”

Emmett clapped excitedly. “Our very own Boy in a Bubble! Or should I say ‘Stud in a Sack?’” 

“Or could you say ‘will all of you please shut the Hell up’? I have a headache.”

“Cue Michael,” Ted said.

“You have a headache?! How long have you had it? Have you taken an herbal headache remedy? Have you taken Advil? Both are very dangerous! Have you discussed safe medications with your doctor?!”

“I’m pretty sure they’re not ‘terribly dangerous’ or Sunshine here would’ve been all over it. He’s very fond of drug facts. It doesn’t matter though. I’m taking Tylenol.”

Michael opened his backpack and whipped out the _2002 Drug Handbook_.

“Um, sweetie,” Emmett said. “I’m not sure if a drug dictionary is the best bedtime reading for someone who’s just weaned himself off of Valium.”

Michael ignored him and flipped through the pages with the focus of a squirrel in February digging up its store of nuts. “Ah ha!” he said. “Tylenol!”

Brian looked up from his crossword puzzle with a withering glare. “Give that to me,” he said, snatching the book out of Michael’s hands. “ _Tylenol: Contact your doctor before taking any medications when pregnant_. Sunshine, hand me my phone. Hello, Doc? Will you please tell Michael, who I’m sure you remember, that I can take Tylenol for a headache? Thanks, here he is.”

He handed the phone to Michael.

“Dr. Bernstein?” Michael said. “Yes, it’s good to talk with you again too. He’s taking Tylenol. Right. No not the sleep aid kind . . . wait, hold on. Brian, are you taking Tylenol P.M.? No, he’s not. That’s right, just regular Tylenol. Oh, it’s okay? Can you fax me the study that confirms that? Thanks so much. Yes, you have a good day too. Good-bye.”

“Feel better now?” Brain asked. “Can I go back to my crossword?”

Justin, Ted and Emmett were laughing so hard that orange juice came out of Ted’s nose.

“Oh my God! Michael, you’ve finally gone around the bend. Brian is not pregnant. Last I knew Brian had a penis . . .”

Brian didn’t look up from his repossessed paper, but he held up a finger signaling everyone to be quiet. “Two points,” he said. “A.) There’s no past-tense when it comes to my cock, and B.) You, Theodore, do not have personal knowledge of the fact that, yes, indeed, I have a dick . . . I’m certainly not saying that I don’t, all I’m saying is that no one here except Sunshine knows from direct personal experience.”

“So, you’re saying that that respectable bulge in your jeans might actually be rolled-up socks?” Emmett said. “Certainly had me fooled.”

“I know you have a penis,” Michael said indignantly. “I’ve seen it.”

“Well, thank God,” Brian said. “A witness. Can I get a signed and notarized affidavit in case anyone questions my manhood?”

“Brian,” Michael said, pulling the paper out of his hand again. “I don’t know why you’re not treating this seriously!”

“Treating what seriously?” Brian said, widening his eyes and blinking innocently at Michael.

Michael turned fifty shades of pink. He couldn’t answer Brian’s question without revealing the pregnancy.

“You _know_ what I’m talking about!” Michael sputtered.

Brian cocked his head and frowned. “Mikey,” he said. “I’m worried about you . . .”

Deb suddenly appeared with their orders and smacked Brian on the back of the head.

“OW!” he shouted angrily. “What the fuck was that for?”

“For tormenting my poor baby,” Deb said. “Eat your damn toast.” She turned to Michael. “Michael, sweetie, you’re making your own bed here.”

“I’m just trying to help!”

“You can help by shutting the hell up,” Brian groused. “Who butters the fucking toast around here? Whoever he is, he’s incompetent.”

Deb chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Bitchy, bitchy,” she said.

“It’s because he’s pregnant, Deb,” Ted said sotto voce.

Everyone cracked up again. Brian had repossessed his paper again; he smiled but didn’t look up.

“You’re evil,” Justin whispered in his ear.

“You shameless flatterer, you,” Brian replied, turning his head to kiss Justin’s cheek.

 

“Poor Mikey,” Brian said as they rode the elevator to the loft. “I shouldn’t taunt him. He’s just looking out for me.”

“He’s doing more than that,” Justin grumbled. “He’s peeing on you, and it’s driving me nuts.”

“ _Excuse me_? Did you say Mikey is ‘peeing on me’?”

“He’s marking his territory and putting me on notice that I need to share you with him.”

Brian laughed and pulled his sweater off over his head. “I’m not a fucking dessert,” he said. “So don’t go asking for two forks.”

“It’s not _me_ who wants to share you; it’s Michael.”

Brian gripped Justin’s arms and started walking backward, pulling Justin along with him until they bumped into the couch.

“In the mood to fuck?” he asked. It wasn’t really a question; it never was.

Justin sighed. Yes, the whole thing with Michael had been funny, but he hated Michael implying that he wasn’t taking care of Brian. He was, but within the perimeters of Brian’s comfort zone. Yes, Brian would let him rub his back and feet but only if Justin sucked him off afterwards, making it seem like sex not succor. Yes, Brian would let Justin cook and serve “pregnancy approved” meals, but only if Justin didn’t announce or otherwise draw attention to what he was doing. Yes, Brian always asked questions about the safety and advisability of this or that, but only if Justin acted annoyed by being interrupted from whatever it was he’d been doing when Brian asked. Michael, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit about Brian’s comfort zone. If he was worried, he said something. If he thought Brian needed to be educated on a given subject, Michael just went ahead and educated him. If he thought Brian should be doing something he wasn’t, Michael would try to make Brian do it. There were no games, no play-acting. Michael laid it all out there and took Brian’s abuse.

Justin sometimes wondered if that was because Michael loved Brian more than he did, that Michael was willing to incur Brian’s wrath for Brian’s sake and sacrifice himself. Much that Justin did or didn’t do when it came to Brian involved trying to protect himself from Brian’s periodic (and often unpredictable) barrages of abuse. Michael didn’t give a shit. He tightened his suspenders, donned his armor, pulled on his galoshes and walked, straight and undaunted, right into the eye of Hurricane Brian. Justin ran away. Michael stayed to fight for what he thought was good for Brian – maybe he was often wrong in what he believed was good for Brian, but he never surrendered the fight if he believed it was worth fighting for Brian’s sake.

“Hello, Sunshine,” Brian said. “My cock’s here on the phone; he’s calling to see if your asshole can come out and play.”

Justin laughed. Christ. Brian could be such a dork sometimes. It was one of the many things Justin loved about him. It was probably watching Brian be an incorrigible, but adorable, dork for so many years that caused Michael to fall so crazy in love with him.

They fucked on the rug face-to-face. When Brian prepared to come, he lay down right on top of Justin and held him close. The only thing he moved was his hips. Justin wrapped his legs around Brian’s waist while Brian buried his face between Justin’s neck and shoulder.

“I had a dream last night,” Brian whispered breathlessly.

“About what?” Justin whispered back.

“I dreamed I could hear hearts beating”

“Were they the babies’ hearts?”

“I don’t know, but, yeah, I think maybe so.”

“Was it a good dream or a scary dream?”

“Kinda both at the same time. But mostly I just thought it was pretty cool.”

They stopped talking when Brian’s thrusts grew uneven. Justin clung to his neck as though Brian were carrying him somewhere.

“Can you come like this?” Brian gasped.

Justin was on the edge of orgasm, so he could only nod in response. They were too close together for him to be able to reach between their bodies and jerk off, but his cock was right against Brian’s lower belly being rubbed every time Brian moved. Justin closed his eyes and focused all his attention on that point of contact – coarse pubic hair and sweat-slick skin rubbing and rubbing and . . .

“Oh!” he gasped when he came. Brian made a fond humming sound in his ear and then let himself topple over his own edge.

They stayed like that, holding each other close, for a long time – so long, in fact, that Brian dozed off, and they had to go on a fishing expedition for the condom when he woke up.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Brian said yawning. “Fuck, I’m tired. If it’s all the same with you, I’m going to sleep for a couple hours.”

Justin kissed him. “No skin off my teeth,” he said. Neither of them acknowledged that the reason Brian was so tired was that he’d had a nasty case of heartburn the night before that’d withstood the noble efforts of the Tums to alleviate. And then once the heartburn finally went away, the nausea started and stuck around until dawn.

“Poor baby,” Justin said, meaning it sincerely. The babies were only seven weeks old! It was going to be a lllooonnnggg nine months.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Brian said as he walked up the stairs.

Justin lay back with his arms crossed behind his head and grinned.

 

Woody’s was packed even though it was a Sunday night. Despite trying to kill the people playing with his most malevolent stare, Brian couldn’t free up the pool table and had to resort to darts. Justin sat on a bar stool watching him and Michael take turns, giving each other shit when one of them missed the target. Ted sat down beside him.

“Any clue what’s up with Michael lately?” he asked. “His Brian radar seems to be beeping constantly. It’s always been super sensitive but it’s been worse than usual.”

Justin shrugged. “Haven’t noticed,” he said.

Ted looked at him. “It’s bugging you, isn’t it?”

Justin made a scoffing sound and shrugged again.

“Don’t worry,” Ted said. “Brian will never sleep with him. No matter how much Michael worships and hovers, he’ll never know what it’s like to be with Brian. You’re safe.”

“I didn’t think I wasn’t,” Justin replied, taking a sip of his drink.

Ted patted him on the back. “Good attitude,” he said. “But actually I worry about Michael more than I worry about you. Things are rough for him _now_ ; what’s going to happen when Brian starts to show?”

Justin dropped his drink from his suddenly loosened grip. It spilled all over the table.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” he squeaked.

“When he starts to show,” Ted said. “You know what I mean, when the babies get big enough that Brian wouldn’t be able to hide his pregnancy.”

Justin stared at him. “How . . . what??”

Ted signaled the bartender for another drink for Justin. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“But how . . . who told you?”

“Brian did,” Ted said.

“He _did_? When??”

“He called me this afternoon. Said you were out buying groceries and he wanted to tell me something. And then he just said, ‘Here’s the deal, Theodore. I’m pregnant with twins. Justin’s the quote/unquote father. Don’t tell anyone you know except Justin. Not even Michael even though he knows too.’ As you can imagine, I nearly toppled over backwards. I tried to ask some questions, but he told me to just shut up and accept it, and if I couldn’t, he didn’t want to see my face again. The only thing he told me is that he wanted a few people to know because something might happen to him and you might need help . . .”

Justin grabbed Ted’s collar. What the fuck? Had Brian planned on telling him? What did Brian mean when he said “because something might happen?” What was going to happen, and why the fuck wasn’t he talking to Justin about it?

“Did he say _what_ might happen?” Justin asked, his voice sounding as panicked as he felt. Did Brian know something? Had Dr. Bernstein told him something when he’d first told Brian he was carrying twins??

Ted gently pried Justin’s fingers off his collar. “He wouldn’t say. He just said he believed that the more people who knew, the better. That’s it, and he told me not to expect to ever discuss the topic with him again, although he said that if you were amenable to discussing it, he didn’t mind – that it was up to you – but that you were the only one I could talk to. I don’t even know if Emmett knows or whether Brain will even tell him, although I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t . . . Justin? Are you okay?”

Justin gripped the table. He was shaking. Daphne’s words about how having twins could be dangerous for Brian came back to him with crystal clarity . . .

“Justin?”

He tried to give Ted a shaky smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess . . . I guess I’m just surprised he’s telling people without talking to me about it first.”

Ted made a ‘what-can-you-do-it’s-Brian’ face. “Anyway,” he said. “If you don’t want to discuss it, that’s fine. I totally understand. But if you ever do need to talk, you can call me anytime . . .”

They were interrupted by a loud yelp of pain. Both their heads snapped around to look at Brian.

“OW!!” Brian yelled at a poor, hapless guy who’d apparently just accidentally hit Brian in the chest with his cue stick while he was preparing to take a shot. 

At the sound of Brian’s dismayed voice, Michael suddenly transformed into Super Mikey, Protector of Brian Kinney.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he shouted at the astonished cue-stick-guy. “WATCH WHAT YOU’RE DOING! YOU COULD’VE REALLY HURT HIM!!”

Meanwhile, Brian was rubbing his chest. “Damn,” he grumbled. “Right in the fucking tit. Thank you very much. Fuck.”

Justin came over, and Brian lifted his t-shirt. “Kiss it and make it feel better,” he said in his sluttiest voice. Suddenly Michael was there, shoving Justin out of the way so hard that Justin actually bumped into a table, spilling three other patrons’ drinks. He was just about to let Michael have it with both barrels, when Emmett appeared beside him.

“Shake it off, sweetie,” he whispered in Justin’s ear. “Our dear, poor Michael is not in his right mind.”

Justin snorted. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“OH MY GOD!!” Michael shouted. “BRIAN, ARE YOU OKAY?! SHOULD I CALL THE DOCTOR?! DO YOU THINK YOUR MILK DUCTS HAVE BEEN DAMAGED . . . ?!”

Brian grabbed Michael from behind and clapped a hand over Michael’s mouth.

“Oh my fucking God, Mikey!” he hissed in Michael’s ear. “You have _got_ to get your shit in a pile! What on earth were you thinking just now announcing the fact my tits are sore to the whole fucking bar?”

Michael hung his head. “I guess I wasn’t,” he mumbled sheepishly. “It’s just . . . it’s just . . . Brian, I am so fucking _scared_!”

He started to cry, and Brian wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close.

“Ssshhhh,” he whispered. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Get a grip, okay?”

He released Michael, who wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve.

“And use a fucking napkin for that,” Brian said, handing Michael one. “That’s un-fucking-sanitary . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, starting to sob again. “It’s just . . . everything I do is wrong. I’m going to fuck this up, and you’re going to die . . .”

“I’m not going to die,” Brian said with calm assurance. “Especially not from taking a cue to the tit. Now, let’s all head back to my place.” He put Michael in a headlock and gave him a fond mini-noogie. “But just one more thing: You can screech about ‘milk ducts’ in Woody’s, but you _cannot_ treat Justin like you’ve been doing. That’s nonnegotiable. I’m going to cut you some serious slack because I know you love me, and you’re freaking out right now, but not when it comes to Justin. One more snarky comment, one more shove, and we’re going to be having a serious talk. Got it?”

Michael swallowed audibly and then nodded. He didn’t look at Justin or apologize, but Justin was nonetheless sure he’d gotten his last elbow in the ribs from Brian’s best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, I'm giving short shrift to one of the mpreg genre's core aspects, namely the revelation by friends and family that so-and-so is pregnant. I'm doing so mostly because it's been done already in this context and done well. Also, I just didn't feel like it. LOL. How's that for a reason? Not to say that there won't be revelations among non-family members, but I'm skipping ahead ;) Also, I'm not spending a lot of time on people not believing that Brian's pregnant - perhaps because it's Brian revealing it, they're less skeptical. That said, there are two people that are going to find the news very challenging, and I can't wait to tell you about it . . . but I must ;)
> 
> Also, I'm still behind in replying to comments. I apologize. It doesn't mean that they haven't made me feel warm & fuzzy & energized, it's just that I'm spending all my fandom time writing these days.
> 
> Finally, I want to assure people that I have NOT abandoned my other WIPs, and I apologize for not updating them since I started writing this story, but inspiration struck and I ran with it. It's not often I'm moved to write a novel-length story.


	11. Still Not Too Old To Die Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian learned something from his doctor when he was told he was carrying twins. It's something he hasn't yet told Justin. Until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is a rough chapter, my friends.

On May 26th, two things of note occurred.

The first occurred in the bedroom at the loft. Justin was in the kitchen making Brian’s favorite breakfast of toast on toast with toast on the side, when suddenly he became aware of an unusual and unusually long silence. 

As he did most Sunday mornings these days, Brian got up to puke; came back to bed grumbling obscenities; fell back asleep; woke up with a hard-on; received an expert blow-job; fell back asleep; woke up; took a shower; got dressed; and came down to the kitchen expecting breakfast and coffee, but rarely in that order. All of these things were done as loudly as humanly possible and punctuated by editorial comments, some of which were quite long, detailed and profane.

So when Justin became aware of the silence in the loft after having listened to Brian singing badly in the shower and practicing a client presentation in the mirror while shaving, he was truly alarmed. He put down the butter knife and went to investigate. He found Brian standing in front of his closet, wearing nothing but his sexiest pair of button-fly jeans and staring down at something.

“Brian?” he asked tentatively, but as nonchalantly, as possible. “You doin’ okay?”

Silence.

“Brian?”

“I can’t button the top button,” Brian said.

Justin’s heart rate spiked, but he was careful not to show any outward signs of excitement. He still wasn’t sure what kind of mood was accompanying Brian’s discovery.

“If you just washed them,” he said, “they may have shrunk in the drier. Are they a clean pair?” 

“Nope.”

“How long ago did you last wear them?”

“A few days.”

“Could you button them then?”

“Yes.”

Silence. What the heck? When was Brian going to react and let him into his headspace?

“Uhm, do you want me to help you try to button the last button?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry? I made you some toast and coffee.”

Silence.

“Brian?”

No answer. Justin went to him and laid a hand on his arm, but Brian didn’t react.

“Okay,” he said clearing his throat. “If you don’t need me for anything, I’m going to go back to making breakfast.”

“I can’t button the top button,” Brian said.

Justin took a deep breath. “Are you freaking out?” he asked softly.

Brian placed a hand on his lower belly, just beneath the open waistband of his jeans.

“There’re babies in there,” he said. “That’s why I can’t button my jeans all the way.”

Sensing this was a critical moment that could possibly turn out any number ways, Justin took another deep, _deep_ breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “There are babies in there.” He nodded at Brian’s hand where it still lay against his belly.

“Two babies,” Brian said.

“God, I hope it’s only two,” Justin replied, trying to gently lighten the mood.

Brian didn’t smile or in any way respond to Justin’s effort.

“There are two babies inside of me.”

“Yeah, there are.”

“They’re going to get really big.”

“We hope they will. If everything goes fine, they will.”

“If everything goes fine.”

Justin’s heart rate spiked again, but this time with fear rather than excitement.

“Everything _will_ go fine,” he said fiercely, willing his words to be true with all of his heart.

“You don’t know that,” Brian said.

How to respond? It was one of Brian’s trademark statements. Brian did not count chickens before they hatched – or apparently babies before they were born as well. He was too distrustful of fate . . . and happy endings.

“One day at a time,” Justin said, praying he didn’t sound patronizing or dismissive. But what else could he say?

Brian began rubbing his belly in small circles.

“It feels so taut,” he said.

“Your belly’s _always_ been taut,” Justin replied, trying again to lighten the mood.

“No, this is different,” Brian said. “There’s no give at all. Even when I suck my gut in, I can’t button that top button.”

“Can I touch?” Justin asked softly.

Brian didn’t look at him, but he nodded and removed his hand so that Justin could replace it with his. Brian was right; the barely noticeable rounding of his lower belly was hard. There was no way Brian was going to be buttoning that top button. Was it time for the Belly Band?

Justin sensed it wasn’t. That in fact, bringing out Deb’s Belly Band would cause some kind of apocalyptic response from Brian that Justin knew he wasn’t prepared to deal with. He’d invariably say something wrong. It was practically a given.

“How about you try on a different pair of jeans?” he suggested.

He hadn’t removed his hand, and Brian placed his own on top of it. Justin couldn’t tell if it was a tender, loving gesture or a kind of demand that Justin recognize and acknowledge what he’d done. Maybe both?

“There are babies in there,” Brian said again. Was that wondering awe or deep dismay in his voice? Brian had never been so hard to read before.

This time Justin just stayed quiet. Maybe Brian would say more if he wasn’t interrupted.

“We made babies.”

Justin bit his lip to stop himself from grinning. Yes, indeed, they had.

“You fucked me and put babies in me, and now I can’t button the top button of my favorite pair of jeans.”

Justin’s nascent grin died. Where on earth was this going? Was Brian angry at him?

“You came inside me and now there are babies.”

 _It was_ your _damn too-small condom_ , Justin thought. _It’s not like it’s a hundred percent my fault_.

“ _Two_ babies.”

Justin softly cleared his throat. He was starting to get very nervous. “C’mon,” he said as soothingly as possible. “Let’s try a different pair of jeans.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Brian replied. “Another pair may button or zip all the way today, but probably not next week, let alone next month.”

“If this is about clothes, we’ll find a way to let you wear the stuff you have for as long as possible. There’re tailors, there’s elastic . . .”

“People are going to find out,” Brian continued as though Justin hadn’t spoken. “All the men I fucked and all the men I haven’t are going to find out. My colleagues and clients are going to find out. The guys at the gym are going to find out. Everyone’s going to find out that you fucked me and now I have babies growing inside of me.”

Justin voice shook when he asked the question that needed to be asked.

“Are you changing your mind about having an abortion?” he asked.

“But there are _two_ babies,” Brian replied as though that made all the difference in the world.

“Yes, there are, but they’re only eight weeks old – actually as of today. They’re not viable on their own outside of your body. You wouldn’t be killing viable human beings. You’d be making a decision about your body and your life – a decision which is yours by right and yours alone.”

He couldn’t believe he was being so calm, and he was proud of himself. He’d told Brian it was his choice, and he, Justin, would stand beside him whatever he chose . . . but, God, he wanted these babies _so_ much! He was madly in love with them. He could feel them in his arms already and smell the sweet newborn scent on the tops of their heads. He could feel them squirming in their hospital blankets, their eyes still only narrow glints of hazel between dark lashes, their tiny hands grasping his finger as they blinked in the light of their new world.

“If the babies went away, I could button the top button of my jeans again.”

Justin slowly removed his hand from underneath Brian’s. He was going to cry. He knew what lay beneath Brian’s words, but on the surface they seemed so trivial, so selfish.

Once Justin’s hand was gone, Brian started rubbing his belly again. Justin wasn’t even sure that Brian realized he was doing it.

“Yup, you could,” he said unkindly. “And all would be fine and good with the world. Your jeans would fit; your manhood would go unsullied; your precious reputation as the toppiest-top of Liberty Ave would remain unquestioned.”

Brian’s head snapped around. He fixed Justin with a scary look.

Shit. Shit shit shit _shit_! He’d been so good, so supportive, and now he’d fucked it all up.

“You don’t think very much of me, do you?” Brian said. “None of you do. Except Mikey.”

Double shit!

“I got sober. I quit smoking. In a matter of weeks, I’m going to give up tricking. And why? Not because you wanted me to, but because _I_ wanted to. I have two babies inside me, Justin! I’m not a person, I’m an incubator! They’re what matters, not me! I’m nothing more than a baby machine. Everything I do – everything I _am_ is about the babies now. And why? Not because you want them so much that you won’t be able to stay with me if I get rid of them because part of you will hate my guts. Don’t flatter yourself. I’m keeping them because _I_ want to – not you, _me_. They’re inside _me_. Your jeans still fit. You can still button the top button. So don’t give me shit if I want to mourn because I can’t anymore! Now find me another fucking pair. We have to be at Deb’s in an hour.”

Justin went through Brian’s thousand pairs of jeans. Buttons were better than zippers because zippers had zero give whereas buttons had a little. Brian tried on pair after pair. With some it was even worse – he couldn’t button the top _two_ buttons. Finally, they found a pair that buttoned all the way and were even loose enough that Brian could reach his hand under his waistband.

“Now what shirt should I wear?” he asked. Justin knew that the question was code for ‘I’m sorry I went off on you like that, it’s just that I’m freaking out.’ Justin chose a merlot-red button-up shirt. He loved Brian in red; it accentuated his beautiful mouth.

Once he was fully dressed, shoes, leather jacket and all, Brian stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom and examined himself from every angle – and then did it again.

How do I look?” he asked.

“Great,” Justin replied. “You always look great.”

 

The second thing of note on that day of May 26th happened at Deb’s house.

As far as Brian and Justin knew, it was just the usually weekly Sunday dinner, but when they walked through the door, they were greeted by cheers and applause and millions of rainbow streamers; Deb must’ve bought the Big Q’s entire stock. On a banner hanging from the ceiling between the living room and the kitchen read: “Happy Two-Month Not-Yet-Birthday To The Family’s Newest Members!”

Oh God.

Suddenly Justin felt like _he_ was going to puke. How was Brian going to react? After the scene earlier at the loft, this could turn into a total train wreck. He actually had to sit down on the stairs for fear he might fall over.

But Brian surprised him by smiling – it wasn’t a grin, and it was small, but it was definitely a smile.

“Congratulations, kiddo,” Deb said, hugging him. “You made it through another month. Good for you.”

“Yeah, congratulations, Bri,” Ted said, clapping him on the back.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re doing great,” said Emmett kissing Brian’s cheek. Brian made a show of wiping it off, but he was still smiling. It was a weird smile though – a smile that Justin knew was genuine but nonetheless had never seen before.

Brian was growing increasingly mysterious. It was as though he was leaving them behind as he stepped through some invisible doorway into a land that was totally inaccessible to the rest of them.

“Good job, Brian,” Vic said with a nod. “Can I get you a glass of sparkling grape juice?”

Brian turned his odd little smile on Vic. “No thanks,” he said. “Fizzy stuff makes the bloating worse. I’ll stick with water.”

There was a brief, but pin-droppingly silent, moment before everyone returned to a world in which Brian Kinney hadn’t just announced to a roomful of people that he had gas.

Mikey approached him as surreptitiously as possible. “I read that doing half sit-ups helps expel extra . . . you know,” Justin heard him whisper.

“Thanks for the tip, Mikey,” Brian replied, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Where’s the chicken parmesan? Italian is the only cuisine I haven’t puked up yet.”

They all filled their plates and settled themselves in the living room. Brian, of course, got the armchair – not that he wouldn’t have anyway. Everyone just assumed he’d want it and sat somewhere else. Justin was praying fervently that no one would try to discuss the pregnancy, but everyone was good and respected Brian’s wish not to be hounded by questions. Apparently the subject wasn’t totally off the table, but it was obviously going to have to be Brian who brought it up.

There were a lot of the usual, comfortably-familiar conversations. Michael bitched about Andrew, his dick manager at the Big Q. Ted talked about the porn industry in accountant-speak. Justin was impressed that Ted could make even porn sound boring, so was Brian but not in a good way.

“Christ, Theodore,” he said. “Way to take the ol’ blush off the rose.”

“I do my best,” Ted replied, pretending to be dense and treating Brian’s remark like a compliment.

Vic talked about his HIV support group. Emmett talked about the pros and cons of fake silver cock-and-ball rings (they were much more affordable than actual silver, but they tended to cause a rash if one is allergic to aluminum – he advised Justin to stay away from them). Ben talked about the book his class was reading (Brian pretended to fall asleep and snore loudly, which was funny because everyone just assumed he actually had). Deb talked about the new cook at the diner who liked to work in ass-less chaps. She said she’d ask Melanie if, when the guy inevitable got burns from splattering grease, he could apply for worker’s comp. Everyone asked Justin whether he’d gotten his semester grades back yet and prodded Brian to discuss his latest ad campaign for a company selling grooming items for men.

“The nail clippers are pretty boring and hard to work with,” Brian told them. “But I came up with the idea to focus solely on the nose and ear hair trimmer. It was a no-brainer, actually. Just assemble some photos of dudes with hair growing out of every orifice . . .”

“Let me guess,” said Vic. “The copy reads ‘don’t let this happen to you.’”

Brian gave him an appreciative nod. “Not bad,” he said, “but I came up with something even better: ‘Don’t let unsightly hair stand between you and a social life – buy MenWorx grooming tools and stop being That Guy everyone’s laughing about at the water cooler.’”

Everyone cracked up. “No way,” Michael said. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Brian said smirking with self-satisfaction.

“How do you get away with stuff like that?” Ted asked.

“Because my copy sells shit,” Brian replied. “And other people’s don’t.”

Everyone laughed again. They were just digging into dessert when there was a knock at the door. Everyone froze in various stages of eating when Deb went to answer it and stepped aside with an alarmed expression when Lindsay and Melanie walked in.

“Oh, shit,” Michael breathed. “What the hell are they doing here? Ma said she didn’t invite them . . .”

“Hello, everyone,” Lindsay said cheerfully. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d stop by.”

Everyone was staring at them except for Brian who continued to devour his giant piece of tres leches cake with its two candles – one pink and one blue.

“How lovely,” Deb said with poorly disguised dismay. “Please take off your coats, the two of you, and have some cake.”

“Cake?” Lindsay said. “What are we celebrating?” When nobody answered, she looked around and noticed the banner wishing a happy not-yet-birthday to the twins.

“What’s a not-yet-birthday?” Mel asked. “Someone pregnant or something? Obviously not any of you guys.”

She laughed. No one else did.

“Cake?” Deb asked. “It’s delicious. Vic made it.”

Lindsay smiled distractedly but nonetheless accepted the plate Deb handed to her. “I feel like there’s something we’re being excluded from,” she said with a pleasant but anxious smile.

“Nonsense,” Deb said. “Here’re the forks . . .”

“Actually you _are_ being excluded from something,” Brian said. “But I’ll remedy that right now.”

Everyone turned to look at him so abruptly that it seemed like their heads might go flying off as though they’d been guillotined in a hurricane.

Lindsay gave him a fragile smile and set aside her piece of cake. She glanced around at everyone, taking in their shocked expressions.

“Bri,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that I’m pregnant,” Brian said as though he was answering someone’s question regarding the weather. “I’m going to have a baby in seven months – actually, make that two babies. We’re celebrating the fact that they’re two months old today. Sunshine knocked me up when we were in Vermont. He didn’t mean to; the condom broke. We’re all very happy despite the sixty to seventy percent possibility that I and/or the twins could die from complications either during the pregnancy or during birth.”

The silence to end all silences ensued. Justin’s brain shut down as though it was an engine that had overheated. He knew it should be him that said or did something first, but he couldn’t. To say he’d been blindsided by Brian’s news was the understatement of the century. Someone – he didn’t know who – took his hand and squeezed it. How fucking like Brian to spring something like that on everybody so casually! Asshole!!

“God, I _hate_ you sometimes,” he told Brian with a voice that was almost not a voice – or at least it sounded that way.

Perhaps foreseeably, Michael dropped his fork and plate of cake and then he, himself, fell to his knees with an agonized sound. He covered his face with his hands and leaned forward until his head was on the carpet. His shoulders were shaking even though his throat was obviously incapable of making sobbing noises.

“Jesus, Brian,” Ben said, kneeling down to try fruitlessly to comfort Michael. “Did you have to give us all this news like that?” 

Brian shrugged and went back to eating his cake.

Deb clutched the railing as though she couldn’t remain standing without its support. She probably couldn’t.

“Brian,” she choked, “Honey. What can we say? What can we _do_?”

Brian shrugged again. “Well, to answer your first question, nothing that will make any difference, and to answer your second question, I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I do.”

Everyone was staring at Brian, but their attention momentarily shifted when Lindsay started laughing hysterically.

“Oh my God,” she said, covering her mouth discreetly. “Brian, you are _so_ irritating sometimes.”

“Sorry about that,” Brian said. “Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. Wait till I start getting hemorrhoids. I’ll be even more annoying then.”

Michael lifted his head and sat up. “You fucking asshole!!” he screamed at Brian. “You fucking, unbelievable asshole!”

“You’re right, I am,” Brian said. “Both unbelievable and an asshole. Surprised, Mikey? Sunshine? Ted? Anyone?

“Men can’t get pregnant,” Lindsay said with a poorly manufactured calm. “They can’t. It’s not possible. You don’t have a vagina. You don’t have a uterus. You don’t have ovaries. You don’t have eggs. You don’t have a birth canal . . .”

“No, you’re certainly right on all counts,” Brian replied. “Nor am I going to give birth through my asshole. That’s a large part of the problem, you see, and it’s why my good doctor is placing odds on the bet that I and/or the babies are going to wind up in the morgue. It’s very medieval, isn’t it? You’ve got to be at least a little bit pleased, Mel. Finally, life is kicking my Teflon ass.”

Justin rose unsteadily to his feet. He was going to do it again, and it was going to play right into Michael’s narrative seamlessly. But it couldn’t be helped. He felt as though his heart was swollen with pain and fear past the ability of his ribs to contain it. He was going to tear open his shirt and claw at his chest and scream – right there in front of everyone, in front of _Brian_ , himself. That couldn’t happen. For so many reasons, he couldn’t let that happen.

“Sunshine?” Deb said with alarm. “Are you okay?”

He turned blind eyes toward the direction of her voice. There was bad taste in his mouth – a combination of blood and bile and too-sweet cake. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

“Justin, honey,” Emmett said. “Sit down.”

Justin began shaking his head and couldn’t stop. “Can’t,” he said. “Air.”

“Okay,” Ted said, standing up and reaching for Justin’s arm. “Let’s step outside.”

But Justin was still shaking his head. Didn’t any of them realize that he couldn’t stand still? That he had to do _something_?

“Need to walk,” he said, struggling to get past people to the door.

He was running away again.

“Brian!” Deb shrieked. “Do something! This is your fucking mess! How the _fuck_ did you think Sunshine would react? You just fucking announced like it was no big fucking deal that the chances are he’s going to lose one or both of his precious babies – and the chances are he’s even going to lose _you_!”

Justin couldn’t wait around to hear Brian’s response. He needed to escape. He needed to try to outrun his shock and terror.

“That’s it,” Michael yelled. “Run away!”

“Mikey!” Brian said, but it was the last thing Justin heard. He’d reached the door and started running like he’d never run before toward the beacon of the setting sun.

 

Justin watched the Jeep approach, it's headlights bouncing with the uneven, gravel road. It stopped within yards of him.

“Hey,” Brian said. “Get in.” He reached over and opened the passenger door.

Justin was collapsed against a chain link fence that surrounded the high school’s soccer field. He was leaned over with his hands on his thighs, trying – and failing – to catch his breath. Each inhale felt like barbed wire tearing at his lungs. He was drenched with sweat and shivering in the cool evening air.

He looked up at the Jeep and the open door. “No,” he rasped.

“What are you going to do?” Brian asked. “Find a cardboard box and sleep under it like a homeless person? Get in the car.”

“But I don’t want to,” Justin said, panting for breath. “You’re a fucking asshole. I never want to see your face again.”

Brian let his head drop back against the headrest in obvious exasperation. “I think that resolution has already been raised and passed by an overwhelming majority of votes. In fact, if I’m remembering correctly, I believe the outcome was unanimous.”

“And that’s funny?” Justin asked. “So now you’ve made your requisite joke at which I laugh – ha ha ha – and get in the car, and we drive home and fuck.”

Brian nodded. “Yup, that’s pretty much what I had in mind.”

“Well, not this time,” Justin said. “I didn’t find your joke funny; I won’t get in the car, and I sure as hell won’t let you fuck me.”

Brian shrugged. “Okay, then you can fuck me.”

Justin looked at him incredulously for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Brian frowned. “Actually, no, I wasn’t. Why would I? I thought you liked fucking me.”

Justin was so pissed that he couldn’t even find the words to express himself. He bent down, pulled a clump of grass out of the ground and threw it straight at Brian’s beautiful smirking face.

Brian’s entire demeanor changed in the flash of an instant. He threw open his door and came around the front of the Jeep until he was within feet of Justin. Justin had missed him with the first clump of dirt, but the second one got him straight in the middle of his chest. He was just about to throw a third clump when Brian grabbed his wrist and twisted it so that Justin was forced to turn around where Brian caught him in a headlock.

“You little shit!” he hissed. “That is the second fucking time you’ve thrown something at me. It stops. Now.”

“Fuck you!” Justin shouted, trying to struggle out of Brian’s grasp. Realizing Brian was too strong, Justin kicked backwards at Brian’s shin.

“Ow! Fuck!” Brian yelled, loosening his grasp long enough for Justin to wriggle out of it. Justin danced backward when Brian tried to grab him again.

“I am not going home with you!” he yelled.

Brian lunged for his collar, but Justin evaded him again.

“What’re you going to do?” Brian panted. “Run off to be someone’s fucking dog walker again?”

“Maybe!” Justin shouted.

Brian’s expression was savage; he lunged again, but this time Justin was ready for him. He crouched, and when Brian was close enough, he slammed into Brian’s stomach with all his might like a linebacker.

Brian froze and staggered backward . . .

. . . and then Justin remembered . . .

Everything happened in slow motion. Brian bent over and collapsed to his knees. He didn’t cry out; clearly Justin had knocked the breath out of him. He fell forward until his head hit the ground and then flopped over onto his side. All the time both arms were wrapped tight around his middle. After a second, he found his voice and let out a terrible sound.

Justin heard himself scream Brian’s name even though he hadn’t consciously formed the word. He stumbled to his knees and clawed his way to where Brian lay. Brian had ground his face into the mud, obviously in so much pain that he didn’t give a shit. Mud even filled his mouth as he gasped for breath.

Part of Justin believed fervently that if he could just wish hard enough, they could go back in time. He was in shock, incredulous beyond words that this was all happening. He grabbed Brian’s shoulder and tried with all his strength to roll Brian on his back, but he couldn’t. Brian had curled himself around his belly in a fetal ball.

“Call Bernstein,” Brian said, half gagging on the words.

Justin reached inside Brian’s jacket and grabbed his phone. He was hyperventilating to the point where he was almost sure he’d pass out. He dialed Dr. Bernstein’s number with clumsy, tingling fingers. 

“Brian’s hurt!” he yelled when the doctor answered the phone. “God, he’s hurt and it’s _my_ fault!” He heard himself wailing the words as though he was separated from himself by a great distance.

“Where are you?” Dr. Bernstein yelled. “Call an ambulance. I’ll meet you at the doors to the emergency wing!”

Justin hung up and dialed 911. After he’d told the operator all the information she needed, he dropped the phone and tried all kinds of desperate, helpless gestures to comfort Brian who’d uncurled from his ball and was on his back, writhing and groaning.

 _He’s going to die! The babies are going to die!_ Justin couldn’t stop the words from circling through his mind in a whirlwind of shattered thoughts. He chastised himself angrily. Brian needed him there! He needed Justin to have a clear head!

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Brian. An ambulance is coming.” He tried to smooth the hair back from Brian’s brow, but Brian was thrashing his head from side to side. Finally, Justin heard the sound of sirens. Brian grabbed his collar and dragged him down until his mouth touched Justin’s ear.

“Save the babies,” he choked. “If you have to make a choice, save the babies.” 

And then he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to plead with you guys not to be angry with the boys - especially Brian. Mpreg or no mpreg, he's still Brian - the same man who threw poor Tracy under the bus when he shoved Mikey off a cliff at his birthday party. This is the same Brian who fucked HotLanta right in front of Justin after Justin had been kicked out of his home for choosing Brian over his own father. This is the same Brian who put his cigarette out in Dr. David's coffee. This is the same Brian who got Justin a hustler for is birthday. This is the same Brian who trashed Michael and Justin's first draft of _Rage_ and literally (literally!!) pissed on it. In other words, Brian is a dick . . . but we also know that (almost) everything he does, he does for love - no matter how shitty. Same is true in this story. Plus he's scared shitless. Poor guy.


	12. A Mother's Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and the twins make it through the ordeal, but poor Justin almost doesn't. Will he ever be able to forgive himself? Meanwhile, Lindsay is losing it - although in a WASPy, neat, pressed-trousers kind of way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still keepin' those pregnancy details vague. Don't even begin to try to make sense of them :)
> 
> Also opinions regarding motherhood, pregnancy and breastfeeding do not reflect any views I may or may not have.

“Mom,” Justin said into the phone, his voice broken like a dropped china plate. “I need you. I did something terrible, and if bad things happen because of it, I think I might kill myself. I’m serious. I’ll have no choice. I’m _so fucking scared_ right now. I’ve never been so scared in my life . . . please, I need you.”

“Justin, sweetie, where are you, honey?”

Justin closed his eyes. He’d never so appreciated his mom’s concerned, loving voice. Maybe he was being a child – no scratch “maybe” – he _was_ being a child. But all he wanted at that moment was to be in her arms, clinging to her like the little boy he once was – and felt like again, helpless, afraid and in desperate need of comfort. 

If they survived, Justin knew the twins would one day feel the same about him. Even though Brian was the one who carried and gave birth to them, Justin just knew that he’d be their “mom,” and when things looked the most hopeless and they were in despair, they’d always come running into his arms – no matter if they were five or fifty – and he would love and protect them as fiercely as his mom loved and protected him.

“The hospital,” he said and heard her breath catch. “It’s okay,” he continued. “Well, actually it’s not okay, but it’s Brian, not me. Please, mom. Get here as soon as you can. I’m in the emergency wing’s waiting room.”

“I’m leaving right now,” she replied and hung up. He could picture her dropping whatever it was she’d been doing, grabbing her purse and keys, and running out the door. He knew because he’d seen her do the same thing when Molly needed her.

Justin couldn’t sit down; he was too agitated and restless. What was going on with Brian? Thank God, Dr. Bernstein had told the critical care doctors about the twins or they might’ve inadvertently hurt or killed them – after all, who expects a man coming to the emergency room to be pregnant? 

“They took it completely in-stride,” Dr. Bernstein marveled.

“But you’re going to be in there with them, right?” Justin asked. The thought of Brian being separated from his treating physician was upsetting. “He needs you.”

“I’d just be in everyone’s way,” Dr. Bernstein replied. “But I’m not leaving the hospital.”

“Do you know anything?” Justin asked, trying to keep from grabbing Dr. Bernstein’s shoulders and shaking the information out of him like pennies from a piggybank. No one had come out to talk to him. He was actually starting to wonder if anyone would. How would they know he was Brian’s partner and the father of the babies? It wasn’t like he could walk up to the nurses’ station and explain the situation. He could just imagine it. _Hi, the man in the emergency room is pregnant with twins, and I’m the one who knocked him up (and then tried to kill him). Can you please have someone come out and tell me what’s going on?_

“Not yet,” Dr. Bernstein replied.

Just that moment, Justin saw his mom come running through the doors. She didn’t even acknowledge Dr. Bernstein’s presence and went straight to Justin. He threw himself into her embrace and started sobbing the tears he’d kept prisoner until they could broke free now that he was in his mother’s arms. 

“I’m going to sit in the doctor’s lounge,” Dr. Bernstein said, letting mother and son be alone – well as much as someone can be alone in a busy waiting room.

His mom cupped the back of his head and just let him cry it out for as long as he needed. When his sobs turned into hic-cups and sniffles, she led him over to a quiet corner and sat down. He sat down beside her. She took his hand, never losing physical contact, and waited for him to speak.

Finally, Justin could catch his breath long enough to start talking.

“Brian’s unconscious,” he said.

“What happened?” his mom asked.

“We . . . we got into an argument that turned into a fight.”

She didn’t say anything and merely nodded encouragingly for him to continue.

“I . . . well, basically, I tackled him with my head in his stomach, and he fell down . . .”

His hic-cups turned into sobs again. His mom took his other hand and waited quietly until he was ready to resume talking.

“I hit him really hard,” he said after a couple of minutes. There were tears and snots all over his face, and his sleeve was already too damp to wipe them away. His mom reached into her purse and pulled out a little package of Kleenex. She handed it to him, and he blew his nose. It was nice to be able to breathe again.

“He was in a lot of pain,” he said.

“But it seems like a relatively benign thing,” his mom said. “Lots of people get tackled. I mean, look at all those football players you see on T.V.”

Justin bit his lip – hard – and looked away. He needed to tell her. Yes, it was Brian who’d been revealing his pregnancy to people, but Justin was going to have a breakdown if he couldn’t talk to his mom. He took another deep _deep_ breath.

“The thing is,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “The thing that makes it so terrible is that Brian is two months pregnant – with twins. I hit him right in the stomach. You should’ve seen him . . .” Justin started to cry again. “He was rolling around, screaming in pain.”

He turned his head to look at his mom. She looked stunned; her mouth was even hanging open.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Can you say that all again? All I heard was that Brian is pregnant.”

Justin nodded. “It’s true . . . at least I hope it’s still true. I might’ve killed one or both of the babies! The doctors could be removing them right now and throwing them away in the garbage! If he survives, Brian will _never_ forgive me. He might even try to kill me, and I wouldn’t blame him.”

His mom was silent. Her hands had loosened their grip on his. She was obviously in shock.

“I _need_ you to believe what I’m saying,” he pleaded with her. “If everything turns out okay, I’ll explain everything – I’ll even get Dr. Bernstein and the critical care doctors to talk to you. But right now, Brian and the babies’ lives may be on the line. _Please_ help me through this! They’re _my_ babies. I’m their father, and you’re their grandmother. Please think of them – you can yell at me until the cows come home later – if everything turns out okay – but right now you _have_ to believe me! _Please_ , mom!”

She swallowed. Her face was pale and looked lined and older than her years. He’d never seen her so pale, even when he’d been having his terrible nightmares after the bashing. He squeezed her hands hard and didn’t let go.

Suddenly she shook her head as though she was surfacing from a long, bewildering daydream.

“Oh, sweetie!” she cried. “Justin! It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Brian is as tough as they come. Look how he stopped drinking and smoking overnight! And now I know why. At the time, it had seemed strange . . . but not now. He did it for . . . for the babies.”

Justin released her hands and threw his arms around her neck. “ _Thank you_ , he said. 

She stroked his hair. “Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?” she said. “I'm _your_ mother, and you’re _my_ baby, and you will _always_ come first. Have you heard anything?”

Justin shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Do . . . do the doctors know that Brian . . . that he’s pregnant?”

“Yeah. Dr. Bernstein told them, and I hope to God he told him that, if possible, Brian wants the babies to be saved . . . no matter what.”

His mom drew a short, surprised breath. “He said that? Brian is actually willing to sacrifice himself if need be? My God! He _must_ be pregnant!”

Justin pulled away and frowned at her questioningly. “Well, yeah, he is, but why does that matter so much?”

His mom’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out and cupped his cheek. “Because that’s what happens when you’re pregnant,” she said. “Your own well-being is secondary to the baby’s – well, in this case, babies. He’s aware of them in a way that’s impossible for you to understand. There aren’t words to describe it. Only women – uhm, I mean ‘people’ who’ve been pregnant can understand what I’m saying. It’s like . . . it’s as though your life has become both more important and less so at the same time. More important because your life, your survival, is essential to the baby . . . babies, I mean. Brian is fighting right now with everything he has, with every fiber of his being, to stay alive and healthy for his babies. But your life is also _less_ important because now you cannot live for yourself alone. Your goals and desires have to yield to the needs of the baby. Brian is learning that, and, God, I never would’ve believed he could do it except for the fact I was one of the people watching over him while he detoxed. He did that for his babies. He’ll do _anything_ for his babies, just you wait and see.”

There was a lump in Justin’s throat ; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t dislodge it.

“Does that mean he’ll leave me?” he asked. “I’ve demonstrated loud and clear that the babies aren’t safe when I’m around . . .”

“Oh that is _ridiculous_ ,” his mom said fiercely. “You are their father. Maybe you’re experiencing things that are different from Brian’s experiences, but my bet is that you’d lay down your life for both him and the babies. I _know_ you, Justin. I’ve known you since you, yourself, were in my womb. For God’s sake, don’t start doubting yourself . . .”

“But I hurt him!” Justin cried. “I may’ve hurt the babies! In fact, I was so mad at Brian when I hit him that I’d forgotten they even existed! It was as though my brain shut off and all I could feel was anger at him! That could happen again!”

His mom reached out and grabbed his chin, giving it a stern, little shake. “Don’t go down that road unless you need to. My guess is that if Brian and the babies come out of this whole thing unscathed, he’s going to be so happy and relieved that all will be forgotten and forgiven, because there’s another thing about being pregnant – there’s a strong, primal need to keep the father nearby. Pregnancy makes people vulnerable. Brian needs you to stand beside him, to protect him and the babies . . .”

Justin leapt up from his chair. “Don’t you think I know that?” he said wildly. “That’s why what I did is unforgivable!”

His mom reached out and took his hand. “The only one who can call your actions unforgivable is Brian. If he forgives you, you _must_ forgive yourself. He’ll forgive you – I _know_ he will because he knows that not forgiving you is not in his babies’ best interest. He _will_ forgive you and when he does, you have to forgive yourself. Beating yourself up can only make things worse . . .” 

Their conversation was interrupted when Dr. Bernstein trotted over to them.

“Good news,” he said breathlessly. Everything’s okay. The babies are both still alive. A surgeon performed the operation that allowed the exposure of the ‘uterus’ where they live to ascertain that they’d survived. I was actually able to touch and feel them through the uterine wall! They’re a little larger than grapes. It was _amazing_! I have to confess that I’d felt a certain amount of disbelief despite all the obvious signs of pregnancy, but no more. Being a scientist, I am loath to call events ‘miraculous,’ but this one truly is. What’s happening in Brian’s body is a Goddamn miracle!”

Justin was greatly relieved, but there were still important questions that needed answers.

“How is Brian? Is he going to be alright? And, okay, the babies are alive, but have they been injured or impacted in _any_ way?”

Dr. Bernstein’s smile faltered. “There’s no way to answer that question until we can do an ultrasound, and it’s way too early. There was discussion about actually opening their enclosure and examining them directly, but it was agreed that that was far too dangerous for them. They’re very fragile, and they’d already endured too much trauma . . .”

Justin turned away and went over to the window where he stood looking out blindly at a lit parking lot. He wanted to bang his head against the glass until he’d finished Hobbs’ work and bashed his brains out. ‘Trauma!’ Dr. Bernstein said the babies had been traumatized! And now Brian had a scar! And it was because of _him_! He _hated_ himself! With all of his heart, he just wanted to die. God knows, he deserved to!

His mom intuited what he was thinking and came over to wrap her arms around him from behind while he broke down again. Oh God, what if the babies were injured and in pain?! The thought was unbearable, and it was even more unbearable because, after what his mom had told him, Brian probably would be able to feel their pain, and it would drive him mad.

“I . . . I think I need to be admitted to the psych ward,” he said, his voice quiet but not halting, sure of the rightness of his decision. “I’m worried that I might kill myself . . . I can’t bear what I’m feeling right now . . . I literally can’t bear it.”

His mom rested her cheek against his shoulder and started silently crying. “Okay,” she said. “If that’s what you feel like you need, we’ll make it happen.” She must’ve signaled for Dr. Bernstein because suddenly he was there, and his mom was telling him what Justin had just said. He didn’t turn away from the window to look at the doctor, but he heard him tell his mom that he’d been about to suggest the same thing, that the stress was overwhelming and would be for even the strongest person, let alone a nineteen year-old!. He said he’d personally make sure that Justin was seen by the most skilled psychiatrists.

“What’s going to happen?” Justin asked.

“You’re going to be placed in a safe lockdown environment where there’s nothing you could use to hurt yourself,” Dr. Bernstein told him. “And I imagine they’ll probably sedate you until they think you’ve stopped having active suicidal ideations. Once they stop the sedatives, they’ll assess what should happen next.”

“I feel so weak,” Justin said brokenly.

“You’re _not_ weak,” Dr. Bernstein said fiercely. “You’re traumatized – anyone in your shoes would be – and if we don’t address this right now, I fear it’ll add to your serious preexisting PTSD. People who ask for help are the bravest people there are. You’re being very wise and brave, and you’re doing the best possible thing for Brian and the babies. They need you to be as healthy and strong as you can be; the months ahead are not going to be easy for all three of them. Now let’s get a psychiatric assistant down here.”

Everything after that was a blur as Justin surrendered his pain and fear and unbearable guilt into the hands of the professionals. The relief from the burden felt like survival. He was taken to a private room and sat down on the bed while a doctor injected a sedative, which took effect almost instantaneous. 

Justin fell into the unequaled blessing of a dreamless sleep.

 

On his fourth day in the psychiatric ward (where he was either asleep or in private therapy sessions), Dr. Bernstein came to ask if Justin felt well enough to visit Brian.

The thought rode a wave of horror – both for (and at) himself and the whole situation – but it was time. Even though everyone was telling him that he wasn’t hiding, he felt like he was. He felt like he’d been evading responsibility.

Brian was sitting up surfing T.V. channels when Justin walked slowly and gingerly into his room. He looked pale but otherwise fine. Was Brian going to think less of him for admitting himself? Justin knew he thought therapy was a load of shit.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he said as though Justin had been at classes and just walked through the door of the loft. “Heard you’re staring in a remake of ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.’ A little drama-queen-esque, don’t you think? Did they give you any fun drugs?”

Justin smiled and sat down on the chair beside his bed. “Not really,” he said cautiously, not daring to hope that Brian actually meant the casual, insouciant tone he was using. “They just made me sleep a lot. What’re you watching?”

“Nothing. It’s all total shit, and I’m bored out of my fucking mind.”

“When are they saying you can go home?”

“Tomorrow, thank fucking God.”

“That’s good,” Justin replied. The one hundred million dollar question was whether Justin would be accompanying him.

“So they gonna spring you from your padded room? I really need a blow-job.”

Justin started to laugh and then couldn’t stop.

“Jesus,” Brian said. “They’re obviously given you something more fun than Haldol up there.”

“It was Risperdal,” Justin said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “But that’s not why I’m laughing.”

“Really?” Brian said, continuing to channel surf and not looking at him. “They gave me Haldol.”

Justin’s breath caught.

“Why were you given Haldol?”

Brian shrugged. He still hadn’t looked at him.

“Kinda lost it one night when I was sixteen. Trashed my bedroom and threatened Jack with a knife – or at least that’s what I was told. I have no memory of it. They put me in a straitjacket and pumped me full of Haldol until I was fit to be returned to the bosom of my loving family.”

Jesus fucking Christ!

Justin didn’t know how the respond; he never did when Brian revealed an occasional nugget of information about his childhood. So, he remained silent, hoping it conveyed his unwavering acceptance and support.

Brian didn’t look at him, but he did move to place his hand on his belly. “Hope I don’t turn out like fucking Jack Kinney,” he said.

“You won’t,” Justin said fiercely. “Brian, you’re not . . .”

Brian held up the hand that wasn’t resting on his belly. “Don’t say anything if the only thing you can think of to say is ‘of course, you won’t be like your father, Brian!’” He mimicked a simpering voice. “You don’t know that . . . and neither do I.”

“Can I at least say that it’s good that you’re aware of the possibility?”

Brian turned to look at him. “Yeah,” he said. “You can say that,” he said. “C’mere.”

Justin stood and approached the bed. Brian took his hand and replaced the hand on his belly with Justin’s. Justin fought a valiant – and this time – successful war against tears.

“Bernstein told me he got to see them when the surgeons slit me open . . . well, almost. He said he saw two little bumps and even touched them. They could hear their heartbeats. I wish they let you into the room so you could hear them too and tell me about it.”

Brian fell quiet and turned to look back at the T.V. “They’re not injured,” he said, his voice calm and even as though he was stating the obvious fact that the earth circles the sun.

“How do you know?” Justin whispered, not wanting to awake the side of Brian that would treat his question glibly in a thinly disguised ‘fuck you.’

Brian shrugged. “I just know,” he said, “and don’t fucking ask me how. And as for your worry that they’re in pain, they’re not. I’ve been assured by multiple doctors that they can’t feel pain until the twenty-eighth week, and they’re only nine weeks old. Although even so, they’re chatty little fuckers. Been keeping me awake at night.”

Justin boggled at him, and Brian smirked.

“You’ll never know if I’m full of shit,” he said smugly. The fact seemed to make him oddly happy even though it was kind of a dickish thing to say. But whatever. If something made Brian happy, even taunting Justin, then Justin was fine with it. He leaned down and kissed Brian’s belly through the blanket.

“Fuck that,” Brian said. He threw aside the blanket and sheet and opened his hospital gown. Justin gasped at the stapled wound that eclipsed Brian’s delicious happy trail. It was his fault!

“Stop being a twat,” Brian said, “and give the little buggers a kiss.”

Justin chuckled and then proceeded to kiss every inch of Brian’s teeny tiny baby bump.

Later he’d cry by himself with relief and gratitude that Brian had clearly forgiven him, but right at that moment he just laughed and kissed and laughed and kissed some more. He’d never felt so relieved – or so happy – in his entire life.

 

To Justin’s great relief, no one in the family had heard about what happened. He’d been dreading facing them – and even wondered if he’d be able to do it. But when he and Brian showed up for the following week’s Sunday dinner, everything was as it always was – lots of food and people talking over each other – except for one person. Lindsay. She didn’t say one single word the entire afternoon unless it involved asking for dishes or complimenting Deb’s cooking. Mel kept glancing at her. It was hard to tell if she was angry or worried that her wife might suddenly have a cataclysmic meltdown. If it was, indeed, the latter, Justin would be astonished. WASPs didn’t “meltdown” in public. In fact that was Rule Number One in the “How to be the WASPiest WASP You Can Be Handbook.” 

She was even more proper than usual, sitting straight-backed with her ankles crossed demurely. She wore a pink cardigan sweater and a tasteful necklace of delicate, uncultured pearls. Her nails were buffed and her hair was held in place by barrettes inlaid with gentle rainbow-gleaming shells. Her slacks were pressed and her brown loafers were polished. She was . . .

. . . utterly terrifying.

Justin watched her warily. Brian hadn’t mentioned seeing or talking to her since the previous Sunday, so he assumed that this was the first time since then that they’d been in each other’s company. Brian, himself, seemed completely unaware of anything strange – at least he _seemed_ like he was. Justin knew that he and Lindsay had an odd relationship. Her obvious desire for Brian was the ever-present elephant in the corner, and there was simply no way an observant man like Brian couldn’t see it. He was all she could see when they were together – even if they were in a crowded room – and Brian milked it shamelessly. Whenever she was present, his legs were always spread wider, his smirk was always sexier, and his eyes glinted with perpetual amusement – not _at_ Lindsay, but _for_ her. He was her Peter and she was his Wendy. Justin was even pretty sure they’d fucked, although when and how often, he had no clue, and Brian would _never_ discuss it. His allegiance to Lindsay was even more ironclad than his allegiance to Michael. Justin suspected that it was because Lindsay was smarter on a bad day after taking Nyquil than Michael was on his best, smartest day ever in the history of the world.

After dessert was served and consumed and while people were having their cups of coffee, Lindsay pivoted (and ‘pivoted,’ not ‘turned,’ is the most apt word for her action) so that she was facing Brian who was sprawled in the arm chair, picking his teeth with a toothpick, and reading a copy of “What To Expect When You're Expecting” that Deb had given him.

Lindsay cleared her throat. Melanie almost jumped out of her skin; she was obviously very tense.

“So, Brian,” Lindsay said sweetly (Justin wondered if anyone else noticed she didn’t use her nickname for him). “I know it’s perhaps early to be discussing this, but I would really like to throw a baby shower for you and Justin. I brought some registry catalogs; go through them and decide what you’d like and give them back to me as soon as possible, although don’t forget that Mel and I still have most of Gus’s things that you can borrow. ”

The room fell so silent you could’ve heard a mouse fart. For a moment, Brian didn’t look up, and Justin had a fleeting glimpse of hope that he hadn’t heard her – a hope that was quickly dashed.

“Throw me a ‘baby shower,’” he said evenly, “and I will never speak to you again.”

Lindsay’s laugh was brittle, and the color was high on her cheekbones. How long, Justin wondered, had she been preparing for this moment. “You say that _now_ ,” she said, “but wait until you’re so huge that you can’t see your feet or bend down to tie your shoes, oh and don’t forget, you’ll start lactating before the babies are born. I had to start wearing a special bra to handle the leakage.”

Emmett made a retching dry-heave sound; Ted rubbed his back soothingly.

“Oh, for Christ sake,” Deb said. “Brian won’t need a special bra; he can just carry a washcloth with him. Smaller boobs don’t leak milk as much as large ones like you and I have – or at least I’ve been told. I wouldn’t know, of course, these babies . . .” she cupped her breasts and jiggled them “. . . were more than enough for Michael, weren’t they sweetie?”

Everyone’s heads turned to look at Michael. His face had frozen in a look of horror. “MA!” he screeched. “Why’d you have to tell the whole world? Christ, how would I know? I was like two weeks old or something.”

Lindsay tried in vain to conceal a small gasp – or maybe the small gasp was just part of her whole well-practiced charade. “Two weeks?” she said. “You have to nurse an infant for _at least_ six months. Certainly you’re intending to nurse for six months, Brian, and if you asked me . . .”

“. . . which I haven’t,” Brian said coldly

“. . . it would be best to nurse for a year. That’s what I did with Gus. And not only will it be good for the babies, it’ll cement your bond with them. There’s nothing in the world like the feel of a tiny, perfect, little mouth drinking from your breast. I’d never felt so at peace as I was while nursing Gus; just the knowledge that he was drinking milk from my breast – milk I’d created just for him! I’d never felt so happy to be a woman in my whole life. For the first time I felt like an earth mother goddess.”

“Oh God,” Emmett groaned and started to sway, his face was a pale, sickly green. “Please,” he said, “for the love of Saint Joseph and all things holy, _please_ don’t say the word ‘milk’ again.”

Everyone except Justin had turned to look at Emmett, thankful for an excuse not to have to look at Brian, who’d locked eyes with Lindsay. Lindsay smiled sweetly at him.

“This is so exciting,” she said. “I just wish you and I had been pregnant together at the same time. I would have had someone to talk to who was going through the same experience. Oh, I wanted to tell you. I started taking a wonderful class in the middle of my second trimester from a mid-wife who’s been in practice for over thirty years. I’ll email her contact information to you. Anyway, she believes that women should swaddle their babies against their breasts in a way that will allow the babies to feed at any time. She believes very much that modern women should look back to the ancient past when mothers didn’t use schedules and time-tables to decide when to nurse their babies. They did what just came naturally, although it will be a challenge for you to swaddle because you’ll have two little ones, but I think you should try it. It will help with that whole issue of leaking milk, and it will keep your milk flowing so you might not need to use a breast pump as often as you would otherwise."

“Oh God,” Emmett moaned. “Why _why_ must you torture us so?”

Lindsay turned to look at him with an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “I’m sorry, Em,” she said, “but Brian needs to know these things or he won’t understand what his body is doing and why. He needs to be educated, and I doubt he’s been doing it on his own . . .”

Brian cleared his throat. Justin held his breath. How was Brian going to respond to Lindsay’s blatant taunting? _She’d never felt more like a true woman then when she breast fed Gus???_ Dear God. There was _nothing_ worse than that! Why was she doing this? Why was she so pissed off at him that she’d lecture him about breastfeeding in front of everyone like she’d done? Justin had been able to see that beneath the sweet, innocent exterior, she was clasping her hands into fists under the table and shaking almost imperceptibly. She was radiating pure, unadulterated WASP-style rage! How was Brian going to react? Was he going to get furious and call her out? Would he just stand up and walk out the door? Would he ignore her knowing that she wouldn’t go any further in company and let her swing in the breeze? What was he going to do? Justin knew he wasn’t the only one wondering. Lindsay most surely was too.

Brian, with exaggerated calm, put aside “What To Expect When You’re Expecting,” placed his tooth pick on his empty dessert plate, sat straighter in his chair and crossed his legs.

Oh shit! Justin thought. Batten down the hatches. Brian rarely crossed his legs, and when he did, it meant he was about to cut someone to ribbons. But would he really do that to Lindsay? And in front of their friends nonetheless?

Then slowly, idly he began unbuttoning his shirt. Forget fart, you could’ve heard a mouse _blink_! When he was done, he opened his shirt and slid it off his shoulders with clearly intended eroticism. God, he was so fucking beautiful! Of course, Justin already knew that, but somehow seeing Brian expose himself like that in front of a roomful of people made his body look even hotter. Every eye in the room – even Mel’s – was glued to Brian’s chest.

“Alright,” he said with unflappability, “here’s how it goes, and Sunshine can correct me if I’m wrong or miss anything: So right now, my tits are really fucking sore.” He paused to trace a large circle around his right nipple that covered nearly all of his pectoral muscle. “The pain sometimes wakes me up when I roll over in bed, and God help the poor bastard that bumps into me. In fact, my chest is now off limits to tricks, which, believe me, pisses them off because my pecs have swollen and tightened as though I was a juice pig working out ten hours a day. In other words they’re hot as fuck, but if someone bites or pinches my nipple, it’s no blow-job for him. I zip up my jeans – well as far as I can – and walk away. Not my fucking problem; they’d been put on notice. Which isn’t to say my tits are off-limits to Justin here, in fact he can suck my tits all night, and I won’t ask for anything more. Makes me as horny as hell. He claims I don’t yet leak colostrum, but apparently he won’t have to wait too much longer. He’s told me the idea that he can suck on my tits and get a mouthful is fucking hot, and how am I to deny anything to the father of my babies? Oh, and if you’re wondering what colostrum is . . . Justin care to jump in.”

Reading Brian seamlessly, Justin turned to look at the room with his best school-teachery expression. "Colostrum is like milk . . .”

“. . . deal with it, Honeycutt,” Brian cut in.

“. . . and it’s what the babies are going to drink for the first few weeks. It’s really good for them and kick starts their immunity to disease and infection.”

“Apparently it tastes sugary,” Brian said, “but we’re going to have to wait until Sunshine gets a mouthful for confirmation. Now back to my tits – apparently one of the reasons they’re so sore is they’re developing a shitload of milk ducts – you’ll survive, Honeycutt. Men already have them, but they suck – pun intended – so I’ve got to make more; and I also have to make something call alveolar buds (ask Justin for more details – I’ve forgotten the details, which apparently is not uncommon when you’re pregnant). And you know what’s kind of cool? My tits can forecast changes in the weather; they get all tingly and prickly. And the areolas are getting bigger and darker so the babies will be able to find them more easily. Oh, and speaking of finding my tits, Sunshine dug up some pretty cool information about some funky glands at the very tips of my nipples that secrete oil to keep my nips nice and moist. Apparently, every pregnant person’s tit oil smells different so my babies will know it’s me. I’m just hoping my . . . Justin, what’s that oil called again? . . . doesn't smell like Thai takeout.”

“I can’t remember the name of the oil,” Justin replied, “but it’s produced by the hypertrophic sebaceous glands.”

“Thank, Sunshine. Am I missing anything?”

Justin merely shook his head because if he tried to speak, he would completely crack up and die laughing. Everyone’s expression was different – from confused (Michael) to queasy (Emmett) to beaming and proud (Debbie) to impressed (Vic) to interested (Ted) to zenly pleased (Ben). And then there were Mel and Linds . . .

. . . Mel’s mouth was literally hanging open, and her eyes were bugging out of their sockets with shock. Lindsay, however, was paler than Justin had ever seen her before. She was clearly teetering on the edge of tears; he could see her trying to swallow the lump that must be caught in her throat. No one watching her could not feel sorry for her. Her heart was breaking on CNN prime time.

Brian smirked a truly unpleasant smirk. As he slowly buttoned his shirt again, his eyes were still locked on hers as they had been the entire time he was talking. He’d done the most devastating thing he could do. He’d taken her practiced aim at his manhood and blown it away like dandelion fluff and, in doing so, proved he was very much the man he’d always been. Unflinchingly honest and cruel if he wanted to be; the Hercules to the Gordian knot of passive-aggressiveness – something that Lindsay excelled at. He’d basically warned her not to fuck with him about his pregnancy, and made it clear that if she did, their long friendship was over. Forever.

Brian stretched and yawned loudly. “My sore tits and I are tired. Being a dude growing two babies with a weird, makeshift uterus is hard work. Ready, Sunshine? Grab the leftovers that Deb’s kindly packed for us, and I’ll bring the Jeep around. See everyone at the diner sometime this week – I have a craving for super greasy fries these days so I’m sure to bump into you. Linds, give Gus a kiss from me . . . and don’t ever _ever_ do something like that again.”

When he walked out the door, Lindsay broke down in hitching sobs. Justin would’ve tried to comfort her, but he still wasn’t sure he understood what had gone on. She was clearly deeply hurt and angry but over what and why, he had no clue. And from the hate-filled glare she leveled on him it appeared that he fit in the whole picture as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the deal. I have a cold _and_ I'm going away until Thursday, so no updates until then. I've tried to leave you with a less traumatic cliff hanger than usual :)


	13. Hormones (or "Whatever Can Go Wrong Will - Just Add Progesterone To A Shit Storm And Stir")

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title pretty much covers it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been worrying that I haven't tortured you guys with enough angst. This chapter remedies that problem.
> 
> Warning: Brian goes briefly OoC, but how can he not? He's a pregnant dude, for God's sake! By all rights he should have turned OoC ten chapters ago!

The night before he was to conduct some kind of huge, daylong schmoozeathon with some prospective big-wig client or another, Brian had a meltdown. 

First, he paced. Walk-stop-turn-walk-stop-turn-walk-stop-turn. Then he sat down on the edge of the sofa with his back straight and his hands on his thighs, staring into the middle distance. Then he started pacing again. Justin could feel the tension crackling through the loft, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end – and was that ozone he smelled? Then, in mid-pace, Brian froze, lay down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, splayed out as though he was making a snow angel in the rug. Justin tried to talk to him but received no response. Brian was catatonic; he didn’t even seem to be blinking. And then, with no prior warning, Brian rolled onto his side, curled into a ball of misery and started to cry. Justin quickly realized that he was totally unequipped to deal with the situation.

What to do??

Should Justin approach him and try to calm him? He hoped not. The prospect was scary. Should he put on some soothing music and cover Brian with a blanket? Should he rub Brian’s feet? Should he try to distract Brian with the smell of one of the foods he was currently craving? Should he pretend nothing unusual was happening and do his homework? Should he leave so Brian could meltdown without an audience? He honestly had no clue.

He went out into the stairwell and called Deb.

“Hey there, Sunshine!” she yelled.

“Ssshh,” he whispered. “Can you keep it down?”

“What’s going on?” she asked, suddenly sober.

“I don’t know,” Justin whispered. “Brian is freaking out, and I have no idea what’s wrong. I’m really worried.” 

Deb started cackling. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” she said. “Nothing.”

“But you don’t understand!” he whisper-yelled. “He was pacing, then he was catatonic and now he’s _crying_. Deb, Brian is _crying_! I didn’t even know he _could_ cry.”

“Hormones,” Deb said. “That’s all.”

That’s _all_?

“Does he have something stressful coming up?”

“Well, he’s got to do some kind of schmoozy presentation-thingie at work tomorrow, but I don’t see what the big deal is. I don’t think it’s any different from every other schmoozy presentation-thingie he’s done.”

“What’s different,” Deb said, “is that pregnancy hormones are coursing through his veins and turning EVERYTHING INTO WHOA-BIG-HUGE DRAMA! Poor kid. I feel sorry for him.” She cackled again, not sounding sorry at all. 

“So what should I do?”

“Beats me. Something that doesn’t turn him into a homicidal maniac would be a good start – and, most importantly, something that doesn’t sound like you’re making fun of him. Hormones or not, he feels what he feels. Make fun of him and you’re in deep shit-a-roo.”

“What about . . . uhm . . . just leaving him alone . . . or you could come over . . .”

“Oh no, you don’t, Sunshine!” she said. “No running away! You’ve got to stop that!”

“But what if . . . Deb, he’s going to rip my head off.”

“Yes, he may. But I think the Big Bad’s gonna really start surprising you, and this may be one of those times. Now go in there and do your baby-daddy duty!”

She hung up. Justin took a deep breath and went back inside.

Brian was still crying – he wasn’t making any noise, but his shoulders were shaking. Justin sat down beside him and rested his hand on Brian’s side.

“Wanna talk?” he asked very quietly. It felt like asking the abominable snow monster if he’d like a hot bath and a mug of hot chocolate. He braced himself, repeating in his mind over and over that whatever Brian said or did wasn’t personal, but it was little comfort. And then . . .

. . . Brian uncurled, blinked up at Justin with puffy eyes . . . and nodded.

Justin had a brief out of body experience – Deb wasn’t kidding when she said Brian would start surprising him. Never, in the history of the world, had Brian wanted to “talk.”

“What’s going on?” Justin asked, smoothing Brian’s hair off his forehead. “Tell me.”

“I can’t do it,” Brian said. “I can’t handle this client tomorrow. I’ve been practicing the presentation, and it’s for shit. I keep stumbling over my words and forgetting stuff. I’m going to be asked questions I won’t know the answers to and make myself look like a complete fuck-up in front of everyone. When they step out of the room for a break, they’re going to all roll their eyes and be, like, ‘Wow, I thought Kinney was supposed to be amazing. What a letdown.’ And then I’ll take them to lunch and I won’t know what to say and there are going to be a lot of fucking awkward silences that I won’t know how to fill, and I won’t be able to drink to make the whole thing more bearable. And you know what? I’ll fucking deserve it. I’ve been wearing the fucking emperor’s crown for years, thinking I’m so fucking great. It’s Karma. Pride before the fall and all that shit. My ‘get out of jail free card’ has expired. God, I can’t think straight; I can’t remember shit. I feel like I’m going crazy. I’m even tripping over my own feet! I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. Fuck – I’m going to call in sick, that’s what I’m going to do. I feel like a failure, a fraud – a fucking bad joke. Have people been laughing behind my back all these years? Have I been a fucking punch line at Woody’s? Am I a charity fuck . . . ?”

Justin had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing – of all the bat-shit stuff Brian had said, the “charity fuck” remark was hands-down the bat-shittiest of them all!

“ . . . All my life I’ve acted like I’m the best fucking thing since sliced bread. I’ve looked down my nose at everyone. Everyone is a disappointing idiot in one way or another. I don’t respect my clients; I don’t respect my tricks . . . shit, I don’t even respect my friends! Why the fuck haven’t you guys dumped my ass or do you keep me around for the sake of amusement – ‘Oh, here’s Kinney again; what predictably dickish thing is he going to say today?’ Am I a fucking clown? A fucking sideshow? And here I’ve been thinking I’m the shit and instead I’ve been walking around with fucking toilet paper stuck to the sole of my shoe. And what the fuck are _you_ doing here? Why haven’t you found someone better – someone who treats you better and hasn’t made a career out of being a fucking asshole? Or maybe you have, and I just don’t know about it? Maybe you’re fucking some fellow artist . . . or that guy who gave you that fucking CD that you were playing over and fucking over before we went to Vermont. I’m not an idiot – I may be a fucking joke, but I’m not an idiot. And now what? You’ve barely turned nineteen and you’re saddled with a fucking nutcase who’s probably going to lose his job and two fucking babies. There’s your life shot to shit in the time it took you to shoot your load up my ass. Will I blame you when you leave? How can I? You’ll just be saving your ass from a fucking lifetime of dirty diapers and soccer practices. You really want to be twenty nine with a fucking ten year-old – no, scratch that – _two_ fucking ten year-olds? And what’ll I be? In my fucking forties doing ads for juice boxes or dish detergent or some such shit because I suck and everyone knows it and I’m going to fuck up royally tomorrow and blow landing this account. How will I be able to hold my head up at the office? I treat the guys in the art department like shit; they’re not going to take pity on me, they’re going to rip me to shreds. They’ll be laughing, and I’ll walk in, and everyone will go silent, and they’ll be looking down and biting their lips. And everyone’s going to say I had it coming, and I did. I should just fucking quit. It’d be better than getting fired.”

He started to cry again. Justin was at a complete loss as to what to say. At least eighty-five percent of what Brian had said was nonsense; the rest was true, but he was never going to be called onto the carpet for it. He was Brian Kinney. He’d always be worshipped and despised in equal measure. Coveted and reviled – often by the same people at the same time.

“I thought you didn’t believe in Karma,” Justin said.

Brian sniffled; Justin had managed to distract him momentarily.

“I didn’t until it kicked me in the ass.”

“Have you considered the possibility that your worries are all illusions created by pregnancy hormones?”

“And what if that’s true? It doesn’t change the fact that it’s how I _feel_. You don’t understand, Justin. Hormones or not, it’s _all_ an illusion. It’s all smoke and mirrors, advertising, I mean. I’m trying to sell something to someone who’s trying to sale something to someone else. It’s like my whole life – nothing but illusions. Nothing but cheap tricks and sleights of hand – and relying on the audience to be distracted by shiny things like my clothes, my face, my body. What’ll happen when I’m not shiny anymore?”

Justin wanted to assure him that he’d always be shiny, but stopped himself in time. The remark was glib . . . and untrue, and Brian would see through it.

“The babies aren’t an illusion,” he said. “They are shiny, but they’re not an illusion.”

Brian had been looking away while he was talking. At the mention of the twins, his gaze reconnected with Justin’s. How was Brian going to respond? Was he going to say that the babies were an illusion too? Any conversation stemming from a statement like that was certain to suck . . . a lot. 

Brian was quiet for a long time.

“No,” he said after a minute, his voice steady. “The babies aren’t an illusion.”

Justin smiled at him. “See,” he said. “Not _everything_ is smoke and mirrors.”

Brian’s hand moved to his belly as it did every time anyone mentioned the twins. Justin supposed it was instinctive at this point.

“And _we’re_ not an illusion,” Justin added, aware he was starting to tread on thin ice.

Brian didn’t say anything. Justin supposed it was better than denying it.

“I think it might help if we had sex,” Brian said earnestly as though he’d said they should order takeout. It was the same tone of voice. 

“Okay,” Justin said cautiously. 

“And I think it would help if you topped.” 

“Okay,” Justin replied even more cautiously. “Here or in bed?”

“Here.”

They got undressed slowly, even taking time to fold his clothes. When they were naked, Justin noticed that neither of them was fully hard.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked.

Brian nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“On your front or back?”

“Front.”

“Okay.”

Brian rolled over onto his stomach and spread his legs. Justin started getting hard as it started to fully dawned on him that he was going to be fucking Brian. They hadn’t switched since the night the twins were conceived.

“Are you hard?” he asked.

Brian shook his head. “Not all the way, but I will be. Don’t worry about it. I’m not doing this for an orgasm. I just want to be able to think of something other than all this shit clogging my head and making me crazy.”

“Can I rim you or do you just want lube so we can get on with it?”

“Lube. There’s a tube under the sofa cushion.”

Justin laughed. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Condoms, too.”

“I knew that as well.”

“Aren’t you clever? A gold star for Mr. Taylor.”

Justin laughed again as he opened the packet and slipped the condom on his dick. He then squirted some KY on his fingers and massaged it into Brian’s opening.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice rough. He couldn’t wait to sheath his cock in Brian’s body. They may not be having sex for sex’s sake, but that didn’t change the fact that Brian was offering himself to be taken.

“Ready,” Brian replied. “Just go slow. Your cock is the biggest thing I’ve had in my ass since the stork brought the babies. Fucking bird.”

Justin chuckled. “You don’t mean that.”

Brian didn’t reply for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said very quietly. “You’re right. Now get on with it.”

Justin entered him gradually, relishing the way Brian’s body tensed and squeezed before relaxing.

“Go for as long as you can,” Brian said.

Justin tried a couple different rhythms and finally settled on one that made Brian groan with pleasure but wouldn’t push either of them over the edge. Slow and very deep, and then about four or five quick thrusts during which he didn’t pull out more than a couple inches – more a kind of pumping than an actual thrust.

“Good?” he asked.

“Good,” Brian replied.

They made love like that for a long time until Justin couldn’t take it any longer.

“I need to come,” he whispered against Brian’s ear.

Brian nodded and pushed himself up onto his knees and forearms.

“Just be careful,” he said.

“It won’t take long,” Justin gasped and began thrusting in a way that was going to get him off as quickly as possible. At the first hint of contractions, he yanked Brian’s hips back and came deep inside him.

“Don’t pull out yet,” Brain said hoarsely and started to fuck himself. The previous two times he’d bottomed, he’d done it hard and fast, but not this time. He didn’t go as slowly as they’d been going, but nonetheless the pace was anything but Kinney-esque. After a couple of minutes, his body shuddered, and he came with a broken, sex-saturated sound that made Justin’s eyes roll back with sheer lust. Maybe they hadn’t fucked like they usually did, but it was hot all the same. It was nice to take the time to really do it right.

Brian flopped onto the floor, and Justin lay down on top of him, kissing his neck and shoulders.

“I think I can sleep now,” Brian yawned even though it was only nine o’clock. “Losing all faith in yourself is exhausting.”

Justin pulled out of him and rolled onto his side.

“Thanks,” Brian said. He stood up and stretched. “That was exactly what I needed.”

Justin watched him walk up the stairs and in a minute heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on. He rolled onto his back and smiled up at the ceiling. Yes, indeed, the Big Bad had surprised him, alright.

The next day, Brian won the account just as Justin knew he would . . .

. . . but then later that night, at the fancy restaurant where they’d gone to celebrate, Brian flipped out at the waiter for no apparent reason and flounced out of the restaurant leaving Justin behind feeling mortified and wondering what the fuck had just happened.

 

Doctor Bernstein was thrilled with Brian’s hormone levels. Bastard. He didn’t have to live with Brian. Mostly the whole hormone thing made Brian volatile, but then again he was volatile even before he got pregnant, so it was sometimes hard to tell what were the hormones and what was just Brian being Brian. The hormones were like gas that’d been thrown on an already raging brushfire. It was impossible to distinguish liquid from flame.

Depending on the weather or the alignment of the fucking stars or whatever, Brian could be clingy and needy or downright despicable. He cried a lot and yelled a lot, often at the same time. Nobody could do anything right. The housecleaner Brian had been using for seven years just up and quit and couldn’t be bribed to return even for twice her salary. One morning at the diner, Brian shocked everyone present by throwing his newspaper across the room and bellowing about some plot the crossword-puzzle creators had manufactured to torture him, Brian, personally. “FOR GOD’S SAKE, IT’S PLATO’S _CAVE_ , NOT PLATO’S GROTTO! I _HATE_ YOU!! BRING IT ON, MOTHERFUCKERS! I CAN DO YOUR LAME-ASS CROSSWORD PUZZLE IN _PEN_ ANY DAY OF THE WEEK – AND IN PERMENANT INK TOO, YOU DICKLESS TWATS!!” Someone later asked Justin if he thought Brian was going to turn into the next Unabomber. Justin replied that he didn’t think so but he wasn’t entirely sure.

But Justin preferred the loud, paranoid maniac Brian to the Brian that clung to him like a baby sloth to its mother. That was the most disconcerting Brian of them all. Where was Justin going? When would Justin be back? Who was Justin going to be with? What was Justin going to do? Were there hot guys where Justin was going? Did they want to get in Justin’s pants? Were the guys hotter than he, Brian, was? Was Justin going to fuck them? And, if not, did Justin want to? Was Justin still in love with him, Brian? Did Justin still want him, Brian, even though he, Brian, was starting to get “all fat and ugly”? Did Justin jerk off to the thought of other guys? Did Justin look at porn while he, Brian, slept? Why? Why did Justin feel like he needed porn? Wasn’t he, Brian, good enough? Why did it take so long for Justin to come last night? Had Justin been with someone else earlier or was he, Brian, just too disgusting? Was Justin going to leave him, Brian? How could he, Brian, know Justin was telling the truth when Justin said he wasn’t? Would Justin call him, Brian, on the hour, every hour? Why not? Class? Bullshit, Justin was seeing someone and didn’t want to stop fucking long enough to call HIS PREGNANT BOYFRIEND WHO WAS FREAKING OUT!!!

During the “Baby Sloth” times, as Justin had come to think of them, nothing he could say could allay Brian’s fears. Brian was convinced he was bloated and hideous and that Justin only fucked him because he felt sorry for him even though just the _thought_ of Brian’s baby bump drove Justin out of his fucking mind with lust. Brian was thinking Justin jerked off to the thought of other guys – he couldn’t be _more_ wrong. It’s true, Justin _was_ constantly jerking off these days, but he sure as hell wasn’t thinking of other guys! He was picturing his and Brian’s fuck the night before – Brian’s skin, salty and sweat-slicked, the swell of his belly made all the more evident when he arched his back, straining for his release. Justin was actually a little bit embarrassed by how obsessed he was with Brian’s growing belly. Just _thinking_ about it gave him a hard-on, which meant he was spending a lot of time in the men’s rooms at school jerking off like a fifteen year-old. God, he’d never even _imagined_ being so turned on. If he looked at porn when Brian went to bed at ten o’clock it was so he wouldn’t wake Brian up every half an hour needing a fuck. He’d _always_ wanted Brian, but now ‘wanting’ had inched into the realm of ‘needing.’ If he could do nothing but fuck Brian every minute of the day, it still wouldn’t be enough to sate him!

But Brian, his beautiful, brave, sexy-as-hell, hormone-addled Brian, could simply not be convinced, and he was hurting terribly because of it. It was driving Justin insane! Brian’s perceptions were so fucked up, it was beyond belief, which was why Justin knew he needed to be extra careful. For instance, he never danced with other guys at Babylon, let alone go to the backroom with them like he sometimes used to. In fact, he never left Brian’s side and never even _looked_ at other guys, let alone speak to them. And he was constantly touching Brian. He laid his head against Brian’s shoulder or stuck his hand in Brian’s back pocket or rested it on Brian’s lower back. Every chance he got, he kissed Brian’s mouth, either a quick peck or a long, complicated, tongue-filled kiss. He tucked Brian’s hair behind his ear and straightened the collar of Brian’s shirt. He insinuated himself between Brian’s legs when they were at the bar and listened avidly to anything Brian whispered in his ear. Then he’d pull Brian onto the dance floor if he saw Brian’s gaze lingering longingly on the bottles of booze, and if he felt Brian get hard, he took the lead to the backroom where he sucked Brian’s cock so loudly and messily, humming and moaning, that people around them asked for Justin’s number. “Sorry, boys,” he told them. “I’m a one-cock man.” Seeing as said man was Brian Kinney, no one argued with him. They just nodded their acknowledgement that Justin was OFF LIMITS IN ALL CAPS! Justin loved being off limits. He’d wanted to be off limits since the first moment he laid eyes on Brian.

 _I love you_ , Justin told Brian over and over and over at every chance he got. _I love us. I love the babies you’re so courageously carrying. You’re the only man I want – the only man I can even see. Stop worrying; stop hurting, Brian. It’s so unnecessary, and it breaks my heart_.

Brian would smile a tentative smile, and Justin would drag him off to bed – or to whatever handy location was available – for a mind-blowing blow-job. He’d found that using sex to distract Brian was the most surefire means of soothing Brian’s ever-present anxiety. 

_Christ,_ he kept telling Dr. Bernstein. _This hormone thing seems really counterproductive. There’s no way that Brian’s constant stress can be good for the babies._

Doctor Bernstein would merely shrug. _Tis not our place to question why_ , he’d say.

It was a _very_ unsatisfying answer.

 

After a while, things seemed to be improving . . . and then came the opening night gala at PIFA for an exhibit featuring that school year’s exemplary student works. Five of Justin’s drawings had been chosen. It was more pieces than any other freshman was exhibiting. Justin was extremely proud and invited his families – both blood and adopted – to attend. (Of course his father didn’t even bother to acknowledge the invitation.) And his drawings weren’t the only things he wanted to exhibit: none of his art school peers had ever seen Brian, and Justin was dying to show him off. Pregnant or not, Brian was going to be the most beautiful man there by a longshot.

The evening rode the coattails of the last week of Brian’s first trimester, and his pregnancy was definitely starting to show. People who didn’t know him might not notice, but Justin and the family certainly did. Every time Brian was around, everyone’s gaze kept flitting back-and-forth between his eyes and his belly. Everyone was curious and excited, although Brian pretended not to notice. If he acknowledged their inquisitiveness, he’d feel the need to get annoyed, and Justin sensed that he didn’t want to. Brian needed the family right now, and he knew it – if not consciously than somewhere in his belly – the same place where the babies lived and were growing despite the fact that every law of nature was hostile to them and dead set against their very existence.

Just thinking of things in those terms brought tears to Justin’s eyes. His little ones were kicking Nature’s ass – not a small feat for tiny, fragile creatures the size of plums!

Brian felt most comfortable in jeans, and Justin assured him it wouldn’t be a problem if he wore jeans to the gala (not that Brian gave a shit.) Brian was using the dreaded “Belly Band” so he was still able to wear all his own pants – it was his _shirts_ that were starting to be a problem. After another couple of weeks, Brian was going to have a hard time with button-up shirts unless he shed his pride and wore badly fitting ones. Justin just assumed that, like all the other bridges, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Black was the color Brian chose for the evening – a choice Emmett applauded when he saw him. Black jeans and a shimmery, black, silk shirt that didn’t need to be tucked in. It wasn’t sleeveless, but the sleeves were short enough that after looking at Brian’s face, a person’s gaze would travel naturally to his arms – a sublime sight upon which one’s gaze could linger for hours before turning to look at Brian’s abdomen and chest . . . and lower.

“You look _stunning_ ,” Emmett said, examining Brian from his artfully mussed hair to the tips of his new Prada boots. “And my God, I _love_ those boots,” Emmett gushed. “You look like you’re ready to ride the range . . . and Justin, too, of course.”

Brian rolled his eyes, but Justin could tell he was pleased with Emmett’s remarks. As much as Brian was trying to hide it, he was scared to death of looking pregnant. It was going to be tough on him when he could no longer conceal his condition. 

Justin looked around. Everyone he loved was there . . . except his father. He squeezed his eyes shut on welling tears, and his mom placed a hand on his arm. God, it was _amazing_ how she could read him! He prayed he’d be at least half as clairvoyant with the twins.

“Let it go,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s his loss, Justin. Not yours. Feel proud tonight. You’ve accomplished so much . . . even if you didn’t intend to,” she added with a nod at Brian’s belly.

He smiled at her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re going to be an awesome grandmother,” he said.

“I hope so,” she said with a small smile. “Although I so do wish this could’ve been planned and come ten years from now – I’d so wanted you to find and live your own life – but then again these things don’t always comply with timetables. In fact, you, sweetie, were a surprise, so I know from firsthand experience that surprises can turn into the greatest blessings you’ll ever have in your life.”

He kissed her cheek and then went to Brian, grinning happily when Brian put his arms around Justin’s waist and rested his chin on the top of Justin’s head. He supposed it was an analogy for his life – he’d gone straight from his parents to Brian. Would he miss out on a life that included the knowledge of solitude? Who knew? And, at this point, who cared?

Daphne came flitting over in a pretty dress with butterflies all over it. She kissed Justin’s cheek. “Congratulations,” she said, and then took his arm and pulled him aside.

“That guy Ethan is here,” she whispered.

Justin glanced in the direction her eyes indicted. She was right. There was Ethan. Great. Just great. But then why should Justin give a shit? He’d made his feelings known loud and clear the last time they’d seen each other. Besides it might be fun to let Ethan have a good look at his supposed “competition.”

“Brian, sweetie,” Deb said, giving Brian a lip-sticky smooch on the cheek that he wiped away with feigned irritation. “You’re showing that famous pregnancy glow tonight. You positively _shine_ , kiddo.”

Brian scowled, but Ted clapped him on the back in congratulations anyway. “I agree, Bri. You do, indeed look shiny.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Theodore,” Brian grumbled perfunctorily. “It’s the lighting in here.” But he smiled a tiny reluctant smile. Deb saw that Justin had seen it and winked at him.

Even with Ethan’s presence, things were going well. The food and wine were good, and Brian had scored a bottle of Pellegrino. The crowd was larger than he’d expected, and people were actually buying things! 

But things started to unravel in ways that Justin could never have foreseen.

He’d noticed that his mom was avoiding Brian. He didn’t know why and he didn’t like it, but Brian didn’t seem to notice, so Justin didn’t say anything to her about it. Big mistake. While he was engaged in a conversation with Ben, Justin saw her take a deep breath, straighten her shoulders and walk right over to where Brian was standing talking with Michael. The look on her face must’ve been chilly because Michael melted away, leaving his mom and Brian standing alone, face-to-face. This was the first time they’d encountered each other since his mom had learned about the twins.

“Jennifer,” Brian said with a stiff nod.

“Brian,” she replied.

There was an awkward silence that Justin longed to go over and break but knew he shouldn’t.

“This is awkward,” Brian said.

“I suppose it is,” she replied.

“Jennifer . . .” Deb broke in, but Justin’s mom held up her hand. 

“So, I hear you’re carrying my grandbabies,” she said.

Brian merely nodded, clearly not sure where all of this was headed and clearly not liking it. Justin resisted the urge to go to him, but only just barely.

“You’re taking good care of them, I presume?”

Brian placed his hand on his belly probably without even realizing it.

“Doing my best,” he said coldly.

 _Mom_ , Justin wanted to say. Be kind to him.

She smiled at Brian, but it was only a bleached ghost of a smile.

“I’m sure you are, Brian,” she said and then turned to walk away.

“I know you think I can’t do this,” Brian said to her retreating back.

She turned to look at him.

“You’re right,” she said. “But I’m hoping you’ll surprise me. For all of our sakes.” She nodded almost imperceptibly at Brian’s belly.

She came over to Justin. “Care to show me your pieces, sweetheart?” she asked. Justin looked over his shoulder at Brian. He could see in Brian’s eyes that he was going to bolt.

“Mom!” he hissed under his breath when she took his arm.

“Justin,” she said with a muted voice. “Please don’t start with me. That’s the best I could do. You know that there are things I like about Brian, and I know he’s done some wonderful things for you, but I will never stop believing that he was one of the reasons – not the _only_ one – but at least _one_ of the reasons you got bashed. I distrust his judgment, which is _not_ the same thing as disliking him. I believe that he loves you, but loving someone and doing the right thing for them are two _very_ different situations. He’s proven to me that he loves you. He has _not_ proven to me that he has the sense – or the character – to be a good partner . . . and even less so, a good father.”

Justin was about to respond when a flurry of movement caught his eye. As he’d predicted, Brian was leaving . . . and Michael was following him. Justin heard Ben sigh and saw him shake his head wearily.

“ _Why_ did you have to do that mom?” he said. “Especially in public? You have no idea how touchy he is.”

She smiled and patted his cheek. “Touchy? He really _is_ pregnant, isn’t he?” she said lightly, but then her tone turned serious again. “I said all I’m going to say to him about how I feel. I won’t raise the topic again. I don’t want to make an enemy of him. You two are going to need me, believe me. I don’t want to alienate either of you, but I wanted . . . no, I _needed_ to tell him truthfully how I feel. I think he and I have an understanding now, and that’s what is important.”

Justin wasn’t so sure, but he kept his mouth shut and led her over to his pieces. This was neither the time nor place to discuss Brian any further.

He did his best to pretend that the evening hadn’t been ruined for him. He stood by his drawings and made polite conversation with the people who stopped to ask about them. Some of the more genuinely interested ones he told about his bashing and how it’d affected his ability to draw. He hadn’t meant to use the experience to sell his drawings, but nonetheless all of them sold.

“You’re a very brave young man,” one woman said. “I expect great things from you.” She smiled kindly at him.

“Hear that?” Lindsay said, and he jumped. He had no idea she was standing right there behind him. “Another person other than me who thinks you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

Justin turned to look at her and saw that she was giving him one of her warm, loving smiles. He smiled back at her – but with a slight wariness. Lindsay was tricky, and the last time he’d seen her, he’d been sure, that given a chance, she would rip off his head and suck out his brains with a bendy straw.

“Where’s Brian?” she asked. She and Mel had arrived after Brian left. “He’s not standing you up again, is he? I thought that we’d seen the end of that kind of behavior. Do you want me to call him?” She pulled out her cell phone. Justin was just about to plead with her not to call Brian when Mel came over

“Linds, hon,” Mel said. “You’re cornering the artist and preventing him from schmoozing up the big money-bags and wealthy patrons.” 

Lindsay put away her phone. “You’re right,” she said. “This is Justin’s evening – there’s no need to make it all about Brian.”

Mel took her arm and led Lindsay away in the direction of Deb who was holding Gus. When they reached their destination, Mel turned around and winked at him. “You owe me,” she mouthed. “Big time.”

What the fuck?

The evening Justin had so looked forward to was turning into a nightmare. It was only half through when he started wishing it was over so he could go find Brian, who was almost certainly sitting in the Jeep out in the parking lot venting at his adoring audience of one. Yes, he was angry at his mom, but he was also annoyed with Brian. Hormones or no hormones, he could’ve stuck around for Justin’s sake. At least the evening couldn’t get any worse, right? 

Wrong. Enter Ethan Gold stage left.

The second he saw that Justin was alone, he sauntered over bow-leggedly with a bullshit ‘Wow! Never thought I’d see you here!’ smile on his face.

Justin’s facial expression wasn’t a smile. He knew it wasn’t because, try as he may, he couldn’t get the corners of his mouth to turn up.

“These yours?” Ethan asked, nodding at Justin’s drawings.

Justin nodded stiffly. “Yup.”

“They’re really good.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I get you a glass of wine? I see your glass is empty.”

“No, thanks.”

Ethan looked around the room. “Your boyfriend here?”

 _Boyfriend_. The word was so pathetically inadequate to define Brian’s place in Justin’s life that it was laughable.

“No.”

Ethan snorted. “I don’t even know why I bothered asking. _Of course_ he’s not here. Has he _ever_ been there for you? It’s just like you said – it’s all about him all the time. You’re not even a blip on his radar screen. God, Justin! You’re an amazing person! You’re talented, you’re smart, you’re fucking _gorgeous_! What are you doing with this asshole?”

Justin cleared his throat. He was ready to start yelling obscenities, but the WASP in him rebelled – especially when his mother was present. She’d be horrified. Instead all he said was a tepid “Ethan, I don’t want to discuss this with you here.” _Or anywhere else_ , he wanted to add – and later he wished he had.

“So what would the right place be?” Ethan said too loudly for Justin’s comfort. “Love doesn’t fucking wait around for the right times and the right places. You _love_ me, Justin Taylor! You all but told me so . . . no, let me rephrase that, your _soul_ told me you loved me even if your mouth wasn’t yet ready to. I’ll never forget how tenderly you kissed me; how you trembled! How my touch made you melt in my arms. You _wanted_ me, Justin. You know you did. You’re a liar if you claim otherwise.”

Justin shook his head and held up his hand. “I am _not_ talking about this here,” he said again. “Now, please respect my wishes and leave.”

“Why? Because your ‘boyfriend’ might hear us?!” Ethan yelled. “The man who you said treated you like shit. The man who you said couldn’t stoop to give you an ounce of affection . . . do you recognize those words, Justin, because you should. They’re yours, not mine. Don’t you remember how you said you were starting to hate him? That you were ready to leave him? It was the same night we made love. That amazing, starlit night! I told you I loved you – I still do, Justin, and I _know_ that you love me too. Why are you fighting this? How can you deny the truth to my face . . . ?”

“Because it _isn’t_ the truth . . . !” Justin yelled back.

“But you know it is,” Ethan pleaded. “Search your heart. You wanted to leave him before you went to Vermont. You told me so – you even told your friend Daphne! So what’s changed since that night that we became one body, one soul? Has he threatened you? Because if he has, I’ll kill him with my bare hands! Has he bribed you? Has he brainwashed you? Justin, you said you love me! I heard it as clearly as I can hear my violin! Please, I’m begging you! Leave this man who’s abusing you, and come to me. I’ll protect you . . .”

Justin truly wanted the earth to devour him and spit him out in China. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know the language; he’d teach himself when he got there. People were listening; this probably seemed romantic to them – the plea of a lover to his beloved! How befitting an artist! A stormy, clandestine love affair! What could be more uplifting? More inspiring?

“Sunshine,” Deb said. He’d never heard her speak in a normal voice in public before. It was unnerving. He tore his eyes away from Ethan and looked at her where she stood across the hideously quiet room. 

She gestured with her chin, and Justin followed her direction. That’s when he saw Brian. He’d come back. He’d come back, and he’d heard every fucking, Goddamn word that Ethan had said.

They locked eyes.

oh god.

Was it the crazy hormones that prevented Brian from donning his customary mask of disdain and indifference? Justin didn’t know. All he knew was that Brian looked bewildered . . . and shattered. 

“Brian,” he said, but Brian had started shaking his head.

“Brian,” he said again and started slowly, cautiously walking toward him, his hand held out in peace as though he was approaching a wounded animal.

Brian started backing away. His eyes were wide. Had Justin ever seen Brian’s eyes so wide before? Oh, God! Ethan’s words – half of them lies – fit seamlessly into Brian’s hormone-polluted narrative.

Brian’s hand seized his own collar as though it was choking him.

Why was no one doing anything?!

“Oh, Justin,” Deb said. Had she ever before called him “Justin” instead of “Sunshine?”

“It’s mostly not true,” he said. “And the things that are . . . I said them before . . . it was before . . .”

Brian blinked. He knew what “before” referred to. Justin panicked.

“I was angry!” he yelled. “You were acting like you didn’t give a shit about me!”

Brian didn’t say a word. Justin watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. _Fight back!_ he wanted to scream. _Yell, swear, make a scene, but just please_ say _something!_

“Brian,” he pleaded. “Most of it is lies, and it was all a long, long time ago . . .”

“How long?” Brian said. “Twelve weeks?”

“Brian, stop this,” Justin’s mom said, but she was the worst possible envoy. Brian’s expression went from bewilderment to cornered.

Michael went to him and took his arm. “Hey,” he said gently. “How about you stay at chez Mikey and Ben’s tonight, okay? We’ll make you waffles for breakfast, yummy yummy.”

“No,” Lindsay said, stepping forward. “Michael, I really think he should be with me. He’ll feel better around Gus, and it . . . it might convince him not to get an abortion because I _know_ him, and I know that’s what he’s thinking right now. He needs to be with someone who understands what it’s like. No offense to you and Ben, but you’ve never been pregnant. I know you want to help, but you have no idea what’s going on with him. I _do_!”

Despite all the discussion about with whom Brian should go home and why, Brian and Justin’s eyes remained locked on each other’s.

“The CD,” Brian said. “The one you were playing all the time. That’s his.” He nodded at Ethan. “Isn’t it?”

Justin tried to approach him, but he stepped back again.

“Brian,” he said as kindly and as gently and as soothingly as he could. “This was a long time ago, in another universe. I can barely even remember it now.”

“So you don’t deny it,” Brian said.

“We never had sex!” Justin shouted. 

“But you would have!” Brian shouted back. “Go ahead, Justin, lie to me! Lie to my face!”

“I was so _FUCKING_ angry at you!” Justin yelled at him. “You blew off my birthday – a birthday that was a fucking miracle because by all rights I shouldn’t have lived to see it! But you didn’t give a shit. You threw my birthday on the ground and spat on it – and then you got me a hustler. A fucking _hustler_ , Brian! So, yeah, I developed a little crush . . .”

“It wasn’t ‘little,’” Ethan interrupted. Justin didn’t even bother to look at him.

“. . . but it was only that – a stupid crush! Nothing more! Jesus Christ, Brian! What did you fucking expect? Did you think you could treat me like shit and I’d never try to find someone who wouldn’t? How pathetic did you think I was? _You_ were the one who was pathetic! You were the one who didn’t have the balls to say that you loved me! You _still_ don’t!”

“Justin!” his mother cried, running over to him and grabbing his arm. “Please stop!”

He turned on her. “Oh, so _now_ you’re on his side. Sure didn’t seem like that an hour ago!”

When he turned back to look at Brian he expected to see him red-faced with his famous rage. He even expected to see Michael and Ben trying to restrain him from wringing Justin’s neck. Instead, he saw neither.

Brian looked like there was no emotion in the world that fit the way he was feeling. His mouth opened and closed. “I . . . I,” he stammered. “I think . . . I think . . . I need to sit down.”

In an instant, every ounce of anger drained from Justin’s body. He ran to Brian as he started to sink to the floor, but Brian shook his head . . . and instead reached out for Michael.

The room was silent. Mel walked over to Ethan. “I think you should leave,” she said. “You’ve stirred up the mother of all shit storms, and believe me, you don’t want to get splattered.” Ethan nodded, clearly shaken. Mel escorted him out the door.

“Brian,” Deb said. “Sweetie.” She went over to him. “Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?” Justin had never seen her so calm. It’s the mom in her, he thought fleetingly. At the end of the day, moms were always going to come to the rescue.

Brian shook his head. “Just some water,” he said.

Michael grabbed a water bottle out of a waiter’s hand. He unscrewed the top and gave it to Brian. Everyone watched Michael warily; Emmett and Ted even backed away from him. Michael was going to lose his shit in Biblical proportions. Michael’s entire body was quaking with fury as he advanced on Justin.

“You,” he said very quietly.

Shit.

“You are no longer welcome.”

“Michael Charles Novotny!” Deb screeched. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?! This doesn’t concern you . . . !”

“DOESN’T CONCERN ME?????” Michael yelled. “YOU’RE KIDDING ME, RIGHT? THIS IS BRIAN WE’RE TALKING ABOUT! YOU, MORE THAN ANYONE, SHOULD KNOW THAT _I’M_ THE ONE WHO TAKES CARE OF HIM, WHO LOOKS AFTER HIM . . . WHO LOVES HIM . . . ! NOTHING HAS HAPPENED TO CHANGE THAT!!

Deb approached him slowly and when she was close enough, she drew him into her arms. “We know, baby,” she said. “We know. But this doesn’t concern you. It’s between Brian and Justin, and nobody else.”

“Brian,” Justin said softly. “C’mon. Let’s go home, okay?”

Brian just looked at him as though he was a dangerous stranger. And then he said it.

“Stay away,” he said, covering his belly. “Don’t come near us.”

If Brian was getting his cold-served revenge for Justin’s tackle, he couldn’t have hit Justin any harder. No physical attack could hold a candle to the pain Brian’s words had inflicted.

“Oh, Brian,” Deb said sounding utterly heartbroken. “Why? Of all the things to say, _why_ did it have to be that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, curb your desire to strangle the boys. They're living in Crazy Town during Crazy Times in a Crazy World.


	14. Custody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, I'm afraid to even write this - I know you guys wanted me to post quickly to take the sting out of the last chapter's cliffhanger . . . . Well, this chapter doesn't really have a "cliffhanger" per se, but it's hands-down the most heartbreaking scene I've written yet for QaF . . . actually that's not entirely true. There's a scene in "Finding Home" that almost didn't get written because it made me so sad. After that preamble, you're probably running away screaming from your computer. I feel like a dentist - what I'm doing is good for you but it hurts like hell while I'm doing it. Okay, no more stalling. This chapter can be summarized like this: Justin realizes two things - the first is that Brian will make a shitty father and the second is that Brian loves him. _A lot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been interesting to me to see in your comments whose "side you're on" in each chapter. Sometimes I've guessed right, and sometimes I haven't (which is great because I'm trying to be as evenhanded as possible . . . except where Ethan is concerned, I'm afraid). I'm wondering who you'll "side with" in this chapter. Right now I feel like it's a coin toss. Just keep in mind that this is Brian and Justin at the end of Season Two - not a high point in their relationship, to say the least. For Justin, the gilt is definitely peeling off the lily.

He hadn’t run away; he’d walked. There’s a big difference. To run away is to try to escape something. To walk away is to relinquish, to surrender to an uncontested inevitability. He didn’t run from Brian’s words; he simply left them hanging in the air. Voices called after him, but he didn’t pause to hear what they were saying. They were undoubtedly pleading with him to stay and assuring him that things had gotten out of hand but they could easily be put back together again.

They were wrong.

Brian had pushed the red button. He’d invaded Cuba. He’d chosen the nuclear option.

Justin got on a bus he’d never ridden before and rode it to a part of the city he’d never been to. He didn’t want anyone to find him. They’d try to make things okay, and he’d feel bad because they’d try so hard but still fail to convince him to return to the table. Far better to avoid the conversation altogether for as long as possible.

He walked for a while past mom and pop grocery markets filled with fruit and flowers and the smell of fresh bread; past little cafés where the diners sat out on brick patios distinguished tastefully from the sidewalk by tall potted plants. The diners chattered and laughed. People passed him walking their dogs. Every woman was pregnant or holding a toddler; every man was carrying a baby in a snuggly and looked ready to hike the Appalachian Trail, and all the kids were wearing whatever the heck they wanted to, no matter how silly or gender-inappropriate. He must be in the neighborhood where every graduate student and newly minted associate professor in the city lived, composted, drum-circled and exchanged organic recipes.

Justin liked it. A lot. He could picture himself and the twins walking through the park full of swing sets and parent-approved climbing structures. He’d pull them in a little red wagon pointing out dogs and birds and airplanes. They’d laugh and clap their little hands. They’d be wearing knit hats made to look like foxes or pumpkins or raccoons and brightly-colored matching fleece jackets. _Daddy!_ they’d say. _Push us on the swings!_ The people passing were all people he knew, and some stopped to talk about dogs and babies and the newest exhibit at the neighborhood’s local gallery. They’d get the twins giggling with silly faces and let them pat their shelter-rescue dogs. Everything would be safe and geared toward raising the smartest, happiest, most creative, well-adjusted and empathetic children in the world. The food would be organic, there’d be lots of mom  & me yoga classes, every toddler would be learning a second language, and there’d be daily children’s book readings and puppet shows at the library.

He didn’t need the aid of a crystal ball. He could _see_ his twins as clearly as he could see his hand in front of his face on a sunny day. Brown-haired and rosy-cheeked with eyes, depending on Justin’s mood, either hazel or blue. They were curious, happy, smiling, loving children always eager to interact with the world around them. They adored him and he adored them back. They made him prouder than any masterpiece of art ever could. He spent every free minute of the day with them, sharing in their wonder at things he’d grown to ignore or take for granted. He’d often carry both of them on his hips, always eliciting spontaneous, kind comments wherever he went. People would smile and coo, and his little ones would laugh or hide their faces shyly in his hair. They’d smell of organic beeswax soap, sunlight and sugar even if they hadn’t eaten any. It was just who they were – sweet and lovely. Everyone always remarked on their beauty, and he would beam. No compliment was ever too great for his babies. They’d read books together and sing silly songs and draw with chalk on the sidewalk in front of the laptop-free coffee shop. They were his everything, his little miracles, the pride and joy of his life!

Then he’d think about their _other_ daddy, but while the twins were vivid in his imagination, Brian was just a colorless ghost hovering in the background. Justin couldn’t picture him living in a child-friendly neighborhood or building castles in a sandbox or jumping in rain puddles. He couldn’t picture Brian doing anything at all with the twins – not one single solitary thing. He may as well not even exist. All he brought to their lives was money – never joy, never whimsy . . . never even fun.

Why on God’s green earth would Brian even _want_ children? They’d just be an irritation and a burden. They’d be noisy and messy and needy – all things that Brian hated. Brian couldn’t even deal with a pet let alone two babies!

Maybe, at the end of the day, it would be better for _all_ of them if Brian gave him, Justin, full custody. Brian would support the twins financially, but he’d never be able to support them emotionally. He’d probably be relieved when Justin suggested they not live together. It was the perfect solution, and everyone would be happy – and no one would be angry and bitter and resentful.

And Ethan had been right – well, sort of. When they’d met, Justin really _had_ wanted to leave Brian; he really _had_ said that his feelings for Brian had changed and that he didn’t think he loved Brian anymore. He really _was_ looking for a way out of a relationship he’d come to believe was toxic and dangerously dysfunctional. Day by day, Brian had whittled away Justin’s self-confidence, his pride in himself and his accomplishments. Brian mocked him at every opportunity and treated his dreams like doormats to wipe the shit off his shoes on. Even though he knew it hurt him, Brian kept right on tricking, often in their bed! Often right under Justin’s very nose! For Brian, love was a dirty word that he would never say nor even let himself feel.

So, yes, much of what Brian had overheard at the gallery was correct. The only thing that was a lie was that he and Ethan had “made love.” That’d been an out and out lie, but ironically, Justin knew that Brian didn’t give a shit about the sex. What’d punched him in the face was the realization that he’d been on the verge of being dumped, that his precious pride was on the edge of being punctured, that he was going to lose the pathetic game he and Justin had been playing since they first met. _That_ was what hurt him – not the loss, but the repercussions of being left. Of being perceived by anyone in any realm of life as a failure.

And the break-up had been imminent. The fact that Brian had shown up in Vermont hadn’t changed the fact that Justin wanted to leave him, it’d just changed the timetable . . . but only temporarily.

They’d returned from Vermont to Pittsburgh around three o’clock on Sunday morning. Sunday night they’d gone to Babylon, and Brian took two guys to the backroom. On Monday afternoon, they’d been tested for HIV, and that night, Justin came home from classes to find Brian fucking some guy in their bed. They fought about it, and Justin had slept on the couch. On Tuesday, they went to Woody’s and Brian left within an hour to go to the baths. He didn’t return until the “magic” three o’clock in the morning at which time they fought again. Justin knew what he was doing; Brian was “making up” for having “followed” Justin to Vermont. He wanted to make sure that Justin understood that their time together didn’t mean shit in the long run. On Wednesday, Brian took a client to dinner and then bragged when he came home about having fucked the waiter. On Thursday, they went to Babylon and had a foursome with a couple of guys they’d picked up, and then, after it was over, Brian went to the fucking, Goddamn baths again! The behavior itself wasn’t new, just its intensity and the complete absence of discretion. Brian _wanted_ Justin to know everything he was doing. That was an essential ingredient in the “Humiliating Justin” soup.

And then Friday came along with the news that Brian was pregnant. It was nothing but one little word, but it changed _everything_ in a fraction of a fraction of an instant. But what exactly had changed? Brian’s behavior (at least for nine months), thank God, but had it changed Brian’s _feelings_? Despite carrying their babies, Brian _still_ hadn’t told Justin that he loved him. And, alternatively, had learning that Brian was pregnant changed Justin’s feelings? The only thing that had changed in Justin’s life – utterly and forever – was the knowledge that he was going to be a father. Everything else ceased to really matter. It became all about those wondrous twins who he’d been able to picture from the moment they were conceived. He knew in that moment that he’d never _truly_ loved before because the love he felt for the babies exceeded any love he’d ever known or even imagined.

Did he decide to stay with Brian because of Brian or because of Brian and the twins . . . or just because of the twins?

The honest answer literally made him sick to his stomach.

It was why Brian’s words at the gallery had destroyed him. Brian had banished him from the babies. Justin knew deep in his heart of hearts that being separated from the twins would be the death of him. Brian hadn’t just stabbed Justin in the heart; he’d sliced open his chest and ripped it out.

That night, he stayed with Daphne. In the morning, he called Mel.

 

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” Mel said.

They were in Daphne’s apartment. When Justin had called to say he needed to talk to her as soon as possible, she’d come over immediately.

“I know I probably shouldn’t be talking to you, and you probably shouldn’t be talking to me,” he said, “but I need to know what options I have before I actually hire a lawyer.”

“If there is a custody battle, more often than not it’s the mother who wins full custody,” she said.

“But _why_ ” he asked. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

Mel shrugged. Clearly his questions were awakening the feminist in her.

“Usually, because of cultural stereotypes as well as empirical evidence, it’s the mother who is viewed as the more invested and competent parent until the father can prove otherwise.”

“In other words, a father has to wait until the baby is actually born,” Justin said, more to himself than to Mel. “But Brian’s not a woman,” he exclaimed. “That _must_ change the picture a bit!”

“It’s very hard to say how a court would treat this very unusual situation. Any presumption might just get tossed out the window, although I still think a court would take into consideration that Brian is carrying the babies – I can see the court thinking that that creates a stronger bond between him and the twins than between you and the twins.”

“But that’s bullshit,” he said. “Brian never even wanted children! It was _me_ who’s always wanted them. I can even imagine Brian not wanting to be involved with raising them – just like he doesn’t want to be involved with raising Gus.”

“And thank God for that,” Mel muttered. “I’d let Gus play with knives before I’d let Brian have anything more to do with him than he already does.” She shuddered. “Do you remember that time he dumped Gus on you so he could go to a stupid leather S&M-thingie at Babylon? Jesus fucking Christ! The man is a fucking menace when it comes to kids.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Justin said, his voice urgent. He needed her to understand where he was coming from. “This isn’t about not liking Brian or even judging his lifestyle; it’s about the best interest of the twins. Who will take better care of them? Me or him. The answer’s _obvious_.”

Mel nodded. “It is indeed. I’m certainly not going to argue that point with you, but Justin . . .” She sighed. “Look, I know what it’s like to have troubles in a relationship. Lindsay and I have had more than our fair share – and knowing us, we’ll have even more in the future. Will it ever come to a custody battle? I don’t know, but I sure as hell hope not. There’s nothing worse than dragging your lives and the lives of your children into court and siccing lawyers on one another. Don’t you think you can just work this out with Brian informally, just the two of you? You’re right about him – he really _doesn’t_ want to be saddled with a kid, let alone two. I have to admit that I’m stunned that he decided to keep them and not have an abortion. And I was even more amazed that he went cold turkey like he did, but deciding not to abort a child is not the same as loving it and taking the best care of it that you can. I mean, hell, look at Brian himself. His mom didn’t abort him, but she also didn’t love him. So the fact that he’s keeping the twins – at least so far, I’m still not betting that he won’t get rid of them at some point in the future, especially when he really starts to show – means little to nothing.”

Justin covered his face and groaned. He hadn’t even thought that an abortion was still a possibility after Brian had made the decision not to get one . . .

“Have you considered the possibility he might get one out of spit? Brian has been known to do shit like that.”

“Which is why we have to settle the custody issue _now_!” Justin cried. “God, if he kills the babies because the two of us got in a fight, I could never forgive him . . . nor myself.”

Mel reached out and pulled his hands away from his face. “You asked for my advice,” she said. “My advice is that you and Brian sit down as soon as possible and talk about these issues. Today if possible.”

Justin nodded. “Do you know where he is?”

“Not at my place, thank God. In the end, he wanted to go back to the loft.”

Justin was relieved. The fewer people involved in all of this the better.

“I’m assuming our conversation is confidential,” he said.

“You’re assumption is correct,” she replied. “But, Justin (and I can’t believe I’m even saying this), don’t be too harsh on Brian. He’s going through a lot. I may never have been pregnant, but I watched my wife be. It can be rough.”

Justin nodded and then gave her a hug. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll let you know how things turn out.”

 

When he arrived at the loft, Justin decided to ring the buzzer rather than use his key and just walk in.

Brian answered with a leaden, weary voice. “Who is this?”

“Me,” Justin replied. “Can I come up?”

“That’s why stairs and elevators were invented,” Brian replied.

The door was open when Justin stepped out of the elevator, but Brian was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island. He didn’t turn to look at Justin when he walked through the door.

“Hey,” Justin said.

Brian didn’t respond.

Justin closed the door harder than he needed to.

“So, you’re not planning to talk to me,” he said. “That’s mature.”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t have anything to say,” he replied.

“Well, I sure as hell do,” Justin said. His tone was acerbic. It must’ve surprised Brian because he turned to look at him.

“ _Now_ I have your attention,” Justin snipped. “Well, it’s a good thing . . .”

Brian glared at him. “I can see you’re riding that high horse of yours again. You’re _so_ good at that. It’s pretty priceless that you’re angry at _me_ after all the things you said . . . after all the things you apparently _did_.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Justin said shaking his head. “You don’t get to be the victim. What you said is unforgivable.”

Brian studied him for a long time with an inscrutable expression. “So, don’t forgive me,” he said with a shrug. “What does that change?”

Justin wanted to strangle him.

“Everything,” he replied. “It changes everything.”

Brian arched an eyebrow in an invitation for Justin to continue. _Why not throw the hand grenade,_ Justin thought. _It seemed like as good a time as any_.

“I want to split up, and I want full custody of the babies. I’ll hire a lawyer and take you to court if I have to.”

Brian’s jaw dropped. Justin had never seen him lose his composure so completely. 

“ _Excuse me_?” he said.

“You heard me,” Justin replied. “Pregnancy may have turned you into a bigger asshole than you already were, but it hasn't made you deaf.”

Brian’s answering laugh was unpleasant – _very_ unpleasant. “You want custody,” he said, his voice sounding disbelieving. “ _Full_ custody. Over my dead and decomposing corpse will I ever give you custody. You walk out that door, Sunshine, and you forfeit your right to _my_ babies!”

Brian’s voice sounded even and calm, but Justin could tell he was shaking.

Shit! He’d fucked this up royally. He hadn’t intended to get in a fight with Brian – in fact he’d intended just the opposite. He’d wanted them to sit down and hash out a reasonable, mutually beneficial arrangement. But now Brian’s hackles were up – and probably not just because he was angry; he was probably terrified at the thought of losing the twins. For the first time, Justin considered the possibility that this conversation should be occurring after the babies were born, after Brian was no longer pregnant and being all mother-bear about things. Once the hormones wore off, Justin felt certain that Brian would lose interest in the babies and happily hand them over.

As if reading his thoughts, Brian said, “You just poked the bear. It was a very _very_ bad idea.”

Justin sighed and closed his eyes for a second. “I’m sorry I poked you,” he said, trying to sound placating. “It’s just that what you said yesterday evening got me thinking . . .”

“About what?” Brian snarled. “Bring it on.”

“Well, I went for a walk in some neighborhood somewhere – I think it was near the University of Pittsburgh, but I don’t know. Anyway, there were couples with kids and dogs and babies everywhere, and everyone seemed really nice. There were all sorts of things for kids – an awesome park with a playground and lots of kid-friendly restaurants. Everywhere I looked I saw myself and the twins doing all kinds of fun things together . . . but you, Brian, I couldn’t picture you at all. I’m not trying to be mean; I’m just stating a fact. You would _hate_ it there. It’s totally geared toward healthy living and raising children . . . it’s about _community_ . . .”

Brian made a very realistic sounding gag.

“See?” Justin said. “You’re just proving my point. You _hate_ everything that place stands for. You’d hate all the people who live there. There’s no way you’d be caught dead playing in the playground with your kids or planting vegetables with them in the community garden. Brian, _please_ understand! I’m not judging you; I’m just stating a fact. Would you ever dress up for Halloween and take the kids trick-or-treating? Would you ever take the twins to a neighborhood street fair and get your face painted along with them? Would you ever make snowmen and have a snowball fight? Would you ever take the babies to mommy and baby swim time? Would you take them to the public library for a puppet show? Could you set aside your own prejudices long enough to feed them organic baby food and take them to mom  & me yoga classes and play pirates in the yard? For that matter, could you bear to even _have_ a yard? Brian, look into your heart. You know I’m right. You won’t want these things, but I _do_. I want them more than anything I’ve ever wanted. I’ll be the best father in the world to the twins . . . and it’s not like you couldn’t see them or be involved in their lives! I’d never take them completely away from you; it could be like what you have with Lindsay and Gus. Think about it; you’d have the best of both worlds. You’d be able to keep living the way you want to live but also be able to play with your children once and awhile . . . remember when you told me that one of the reasons you can have fun with Gus is because when he gets fussy you can give him back to Lindsay? If we lived together, that’s not going to be an option. You’ll be in the thick of things. Your life would change utterly and in every way. You’d hate it. And you’d resent the babies. Can’t you see how wrong that would be for everyone? Please, Brian, put away your anger at me and think of the twins.”

When he’d finally got everything out and put it on the table, Justin stood panting and trembling with tears in his eyes. If Brian needed him to beg on his knees, he would.

Even though his mouth was still open, Brian didn’t say a word. Not one word. His expression revealed nothing of his thoughts, nor did his expressive eyes. He looked like he’d been hit by a stun ray. His face was so drained of color that even his lips were pale. Justin waited with bated breath for him to speak.

“You’re right,” he said very quietly. “After I’ve performed my role of incubator and milk dispenser, it’s over except for writing the occasional check.”

“Oh, for Christ sake,” Justin snapped. “Don’t twist my words.”

Brian shook his head. There was a vague, heavy look in his eyes.

“I’m not trying to twist your words. I’m just stating a fact. You just don’t like the images I’m using. They’re not sugar-coated to make them easier for you to swallow.”

“Listen,” Justin said. “I’ll stay with you through the duration of the pregnancy, but after that, I think it would be best if we lived apart. Brian, you simply _cannot_ live like you have been and raise a family at the same time. You stated a fact; now I’m stating another.”

Brian blinked at him just as he had the day before in the gallery. There was a kicked-puppy quality to it, which made it very unnerving.

“I’m not angry,” Justin said gently. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to find a way to make this work for _all_ of us. Brian, tell me the truth: have you ever even _thought_ about any of this? I know you want to have the babies, but do you want to _raise_ them? Seriously, Brian, answer me truthfully.”

Brian held his eyes; he didn’t even blink this time.

“No,” he said.

Justin nodded. He came over to where Brian sat and took his hand. “You need to,” he said softly.

Brian took a deep breath and then released it slowly. “What about us?” he asked. “Have you thought about _that_?”

Justin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what about us,” Brian said again but this time adding a gesture that signaled he was talking about the two of them. “You say we should live apart. Does that mean we won’t fuck anymore?”

It was Justin’s turn to gape and stare. _What???_ Jesus _fucking_ Christ! Brian was un-fucking-believable!

“You’re kidding, right,” he said. “Please _please_ tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m NOT kidding,” Brian yelled at him so forcibly that Justin backed away from him. “Why the fuck would I be kidding?!”

“Because _I’m_ talking about the welfare of our children, and you’re thinking about your dick!”

Brian was off the barstool and on the other side of the room in a nanosecond. 

“I am NOT thinking about my dick!” he shouted. “I’m thinking about _fucking_ . . . !”

“Oh don’t you worry about that,” Justin sneered. “You’ll have all the time and space in the world to fuck your brains out. That’s what I’m trying to say, Brian! Since fucking is so important to you, give me our kids!”

Brian grabbed a squillion-dollar vase off the table and hurled it at the wall.

“Are you fucking stupid? Or are you being deliberately obtuse to provoke me?” he yelled. “Fucking is important because I want it to be with you . . . I want to touch you and kiss you, and, yes, I want to _fuck_ you! Can’t you see what I’m saying? I want you in my life in a way that lets me fuck you! Jesus Christ, Justin, can’t you hear what I’m saying? I’m saying I fucking _love you_! Why the _fuck_ haven’t you been able to figure that out? I want to _fuck_ you again and again and again . . . for the rest of my fucking life if I can! Fine, take the twins! You’ve done an excellent job of convincing me I’ll be a shitty father. I’ll buy you a house anywhere you want to live! I’ll make your and their dreams come true to the best of my ability and beyond! You and the twins will _never_ lack _anything_. I will love all three of you always and unconditionally. You and the kids will be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I’ll think of before I go to sleep! But, Justin, I want . . . no I _need_ to keep being able to fuck you! And have you fuck me! And to spend an occasional night together – that’s what grandmothers are for, right? Taking the kids for a few hours every now and then so their parents can have some alone time together? I want to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you. I believe you that you’ll be a better parent, but why does that mean I have to let you go too? I don’t fucking _get_ that, Justin! Is our relationship so impossibly fucked up that you don’t want it anymore – that you don’t want _me_ anymore? Do you see me as bad a lover and partner as you see me as a father? Have you written me off?”

Brian turned away when his voice broke and covered his eyes with one hand and his belly with the other. His shoulders sagged. Justin supposed that if he set out to break Brian’s heart, he’d achieved his goal. But he hadn’t. In fact he’d set out to do the exact opposite . . .

“I didn’t say anything I said because I want to hurt you,” he said. “I said it so I could set you free.”

“What . . . what if I don’t want to be free?” Brian said. He was on the edge of crying if he wasn’t already.

Justin was silent. Brian hadn’t considered what being a father would be like, and he, Justin, hadn’t considered the possibility that Brian would still want him. And he’d certainly never taken into account the possibility that Brian might love him!

“I don’t know,” he said gently, but honestly. “I need to think about it.”

Brian nodded. They were quiet for a while.

“You know,” Brian said, his voice scratchy with tears. “If you had left me for that . . . violin kid. If you had said you were leaving, I would’ve begged you to stay.”

Justin snorted but it wasn’t rueful. “But would you have begged me with words?” he asked. “So that there was no ambiguity?”

Brian sighed his own little laugh, but his _was_ rueful. “Probably not,” he said. “I probably would’ve pulled back the duvet when you came to bed or something like that. I’d try to make you see that I wanted you beside me.”

Justin went to him and put his arms around his chest and rested his head against his back. “It wouldn’t have been enough,” he said. “It wouldn’t even have come close.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't make any promises, but I will endeavor to post the next chapter over the weekend, even if it's just a short one so don't start stabbing the Voodoo doll yet ;)


	15. "Let's Fuck"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin figures some shit out - not all of it, but more than he had heretofore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!! The comments on the last chapter blew me away! It was so interesting to read people's various POVs. One of the things I took away from your comments is that I need to rehabilitate Justin, which I hope I've done - at least a little bit - with this chapter. I think the vast differences in people's reactions stem from the reactions they had toward Justin when he left Brian for Ethan in the show. Intellectually, I knew it was a good thing and that Brian really had it coming, but I'm such a Brian partisan that I was FURIOUS at Justin - so furious that I wrote a whole story trying to make me not hate him ("Without You"). LOL. So I get siding with Brian, but, man, Brian had been a colossal jerk! Only about a month before he got pregnant, he literally pissed on Justin's artwork (after Justin had worked so hard to draw again). It was over the line (I had to watch it through my fingers). Imagine finding out that _that_ Brian was pregnant with your babies!! Horror!
> 
> Anyway, this is a short chapter - I was going to make it longer before I posted it, but I thought the subject was too important to mix up with a whole other arc. Thank you SO much to everyone who commented! I really appreciate it.

“Will you stay or is Daphne expecting you home by teatime?”

Justin still had his arms around Brian and was resting his head against Brian’s back.

“Do you want me to?” he asked, not entirely sure that he, himself, did.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to stay. Christ, Justin, you should know by now that I don’t do or say anything I don’t want to do or say.” 

“Yeah, along with ‘no apologies, no regrets.’”

Brian snorted. “That’s Lindsay. She’s the one who came up with that. Kind of like Michael coming up with the whole ‘you’re Brian Kinney, for fuck sake; you will always be young and you will always be beautiful.’ Fuck, I should make fucking t-shirts saying all the shit people have invented for me. The ‘Big Bad.’ ‘God’s Gift to Gay PA.’ Although the last two I’m rather fond of . . .”

“You also have the t-shirt Lindsay gave you: ‘I’m Gus’s Dad.’”

Brian laughed a sour laugh. “Never wore it,” he said. “It’s too small. Fucking perfect, isn’t it. Quite the illustration for your colorful monologue on how shitty a father I’ll be if I’m not kept a sufficient distance from my children. Mel doesn’t make a secret of how she feels about me and Gus.”

Justin kissed Brian’s back through his shirt and took a deep breath before speaking. “You haven’t exactly given her any reason to think differently. The one time you had Gus overnight was pretty much a disaster.”

“Yeah, because _you_ almost scalded him! Good job, World’s Greatest Daddy.”

“That’s because _someone_ was playing a different kind of ‘Daddy’ at the fucking leather ball.” Justin let go of Brian and went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Jesus fucking Christ! Why were they doing this to each other? What was the fucking point? But the stone had started to roll downhill, and neither of them had ever been able to stop a rolling stone.

“And what have you done since then except sign over your parental rights?”

“I’ve told you a _thousand_ times that I signed over my parental rights because it was in Gus’s best interest!” Brian yelled. “I was thinking of _Gus_ , not me. Isn’t that what you want me to do with the twins? Bow to the audience and exit stage right as soon as they’ve been carved out of my stomach?”

Justin flinched as though Brian’s words were a physical blow. The image was so terrifying and heartbreaking that Justin knew he _had_ to put an end to the conversation. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “And you know it.”

“Do I?”

“Brian, please. Let’s stop this.”

Brian sighed and walked to the kitchen with his hand still on his brow.

“You okay?” Justin asked worriedly.

“Headache,” Brian mumbled. “I’m going to lie down.”

“You should eat something first. Want half of my sandwich?”

Brian just nodded and sat on a barstool. Justin put the halves of the turkey sandwich he’d made on two plates. He’d made the sandwich with full-fat mayonnaise and white bread. Shit. If he’d known he’d be sharing the sandwich with Brian, he would’ve used wheat bread and a healthier condiment. He’d been wanted for a while to talk to Brian about eating better than he had been, but now seemed the wrong time for that conversation, to say the least. Brian would take the suggestion as another attack on his fatherhood – another way he was bad for the babies.

“I bet you wish you could take them away right now and put them in some kind of tank or something where they’ll be safe from me,” Brian said as though reading Justin’s mind. “Well, you can’t. For the next the six months they’re _mine_.”

Justin threw half of his half of the sandwich away. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Why the hell did Brian want him to stay if they were just going to snip at each other, lobbing one low blow after another?

“Let’s fuck,” Brian said.

Justin merely looked at him. Was it that Brian was shallow? Or did he just _seem_ shallow because he was, in fact, an unknowable enigma? Were the words he spoke the entirety of his thoughts, or were they merely the surface? The fact that Justin didn’t know, despite their having “been together” for almost two years, was seriously disconcerting. Was Brian a puzzle Justin had completed and thus no longer found interesting? Or was Brian a Gordian Knot immune to Hercules sword? Was Brian crass and predictable? Or was he a riddle Justin could ponder for the rest of his life and still never fully grasp? Was Brian a tedious slut? Or was he an ineffable mystery? Everything hung on the answer to those questions, everything that was or could be between them. Because if Brian was, in fact, as boring as Justin had come to believe he was, Justin wanted out – a nice, neat, clean break. But if Brian had the potential to be endlessly fascinating, leaving him would be a mistake that Justin would regret for the rest of his life.

There was no doubt that Justin had become cynical and jaded. Babylon was boring. Woody’s was boring. The baths were boring. The diner was boring. The Loft was boring. Even though he’d never been told one way or another, Justin was also sure Brian’s job was boring – he certainly complained about it enough. Brian didn’t read or go to movies. He didn’t interact with new people (tricks didn’t count). As far as Justin had been told, the only place outside of the United States he’d ever visited was Mexico. Yes, he went to the gym and ran on his treadmill, but as far as Justin knew, Brian played no sports. He had no hobbies (except shopping, surfing the web for porn, dancing, doing drugs and tricking, if those things could even be called “hobbies). He didn’t cook. Yes, he knew photography through his job, but Brian was no artist. He wasn’t spiritual; he wasn’t charitable (unless there was something in it for him). His interest in politics didn’t extend much beyond Pittsburgh, unless he was reading magazines and newspapers at work that Justin didn’t know about. Beyond Armani suits, Prada shoes and sex toys, he wasn’t a collector or a connoisseur of anything. He didn’t like pets. He didn’t like children. He didn’t like the country or the suburbs. He didn’t like anything that smacked of romance or the mainstream.

By all rights, Brian should be the most boring, shallow, predictable, vain, provincial and unremarkable man in Pittsburgh. Yes, he was beautiful and could give you an orgasm that made you black-out. Yes, he could dance (well, sort of). Yes, he was peerless when it came to advertising. Yes, he was funny (sometimes). Yes, he was intelligent, and he’d had a solid college liberal arts education. Yes, he was ambitious (at least when it came to money and sex).

Justin knew all of this. It was the main reason he’d wanted to leave Brian – well, that and the fact that Brian treated him like shit. It was inevitable that he would fall for someone else, and Ethan was the right guy at the right time . . .

. . . so why was he hesitating on the threshold? Was it lust? Was it the challenge of trying to make Brian love him? Was it inertia? Was it a lack of imagination or will? Was he a masochist but just didn’t know it?

Or was he hesitating on the threshold because he’d glimpsed Brian’s soul and found it so complex and so beautiful that all of his complaints seemed trivial in comparison?

His life’s happiness hinged on that single question, and he _had_ to find the answer before he decided to leave. Because once he left, he had a feeling that he’d never be able to return.

And add on top of everything Brian’s pregnancy and the promise of two miraculous children . . .

“You’re still standing there looking at me,” Brian said. “Do you want to fuck or not?”

There was more to that seemingly simple question than met the eye. Justin took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said.

Brian’s eyebrows shot up; he’d clearly expected Justin to turn him down in a righteous snit and ride his high horse out the door.

“Bed or floor?” Justin asked.

Brian blinked that new stunned-looking blink he’d seemed to develop when the pregnancy hormones kicked in.

“Bed,” he replied. He turned to go up the stairs, and Justin followed him, but when he started undressing, Justin didn’t follow suit. Brian stopped unbuttoning his shirt. Justin realized with alarm it was the same shirt Brian had worn to the gala at the gallery last night! Had Brian not slept? But Justin knew this was not the time to ask a question like that. Brian would see it as a judgment on his character.

“What?” Brian asked.

“This isn’t . . . I don’t want to have an angry fuck,” Justin replied. “This wasn’t that kind of discussion. This is not the time for make-up sex, and besides does either of us believe that we need to apologize for anything? I know I certainly don’t, do you?”

Brian thought for a moment. “No,” he said eventually. “But if you want to think this’ll be ‘make-up’ sex, then what can I do about that? It’s your interpretation that wins out; it’s like a book, the only thing it’s about is what the reader believes it is. The author can’t hover over a reader’s shoulder saying, ‘No, you stupid dumb-fuck! That’s not what that paragraph means!’ Meaning and interpretation leaves the author’s control while the ink is still drying on the page. Similarly, I can try to communicate one thing while I’m fucking you, but you could interpret it totally different from what I’d intended. Who’s right? But like an author’s ink drying on the page, the meaning of a fuck leaves my control as soon as the come fills the condom and dries on the sheets. Now are you coming to bed or aren’t you?”

Justin started getting undressed. “But I thought you’ve always said fucking means nothing – that it’s simply about a means to an end?”

“It is,” Brian replied. “But I fuck different people for different reasons: the fucking I do with a tricks does, in fact, mean nothing. Nothing at all except getting off. But I haven’t fucked _you_ like a trick since the second time we fucked – actually looking back, I probably didn’t even fuck you like a trick the first time either. I didn’t just fuck you that first time _just_ because I wanted to get off; I also fucked you because I wanted you to enjoy losing your virginity – not like it would be with a fumbling kid or some creepy pedophile. If you hadn’t come back wanting more, you would’ve always remembered that night fondly. But then you had to go and fuck it up by talking about love.” He laughed. “Oh the irony. You stupid twat; you’ve never updated your interpretation of me and the way I fuck you. I’m still Brian 1.0. When it comes to you, I believe . . . I believe in fucking _and_ love. Now get on the fucking bed and spread your legs.”

Justin was too blown-away by Brian’s words to be offended by Brian’s bossiness. He stripped off the last of his clothes and lay down. Brian lay down on top of him.

“Now open your fucking mind as well as your ass,” Brian whispered against his ear. “And for once hear what I’m fucking saying. If you still don’t get it, then fine. Walk out the door. But before you do, fucking _listen_ to me for a change – listen to our bodies, not my words. And definitely not your fucking anger.”

Justin expected Brian to fuck him hard and long, putting everything he had into each thrust, but he was totally and utterly wrong.

Brian wasn’t even half hard and it took him a long time to put on a condom. Justin had assumed he’d be frustrated and turn into a jerk, but he didn’t. In fact, he seemed perfectly fine with his soft cock.

Once the condom was as secure as possible, Brian proceeded to thoroughly lube him up. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” Brian said and then, when Justin complied, Brian pressed the head of his soft cock against Justin’s opening and pushed.

It took forever, and Brian kept slipping out, but still there was no sign of frustration or embarrassment. Finally, with the help of both hands, Brian got inside. He took a deep breath and released it slowly . . .

. . . and then Brian started kissing him.

Of course, they’d kissed a billion times in all kinds of ways and in all kinds of moods. This kiss was different somehow. It was soft and without tongues, but it was intensely intimate and powerfully erotic. Justin cupped the back of Brian’s head, trying to prevent him from stopping, but he didn’t need to; Brian seemed intent on kissing him like that forever. Neither of them moaned; everything was silent except for the sounds their mouths were making. Brian held Justin’s head carefully between his hands. 

All that time as they kissed and kissed and kissed, Brian’s cock started to swell and stiffen. It was a unique and amazing feeling. Justin felt Brian’s body move through every stage of arousal, and still they did nothing more than kiss. Brian didn’t move his hips, but he nonetheless achieved a rock-hard erection. Maybe because Justin had experienced the process with him, Brian’s cock felt bigger than it was. It seemed to fill Justin more fully than it ever had.

Brian trembled as he struggled not to thrust or deepen the kiss, but he did moan into Justin’s mouth. It was the sexiest sound Justin had ever heard, and he answered it. After several minutes, Brian licked Justin’s bottom lip with just the tip of his tongue. The new sensation snapped inside him like a bullwhip, and he whimpered, wanting more. But Brian didn’t push his tongue into Justin’s mouth or let Justin do the same. All the time, Brian’s cock throbbed and lurched, but still Brian did not move his hips, not even by a fraction.

Justin had never been so aware of the touch of Brian’s tongue. It was such a simple pleasure, but it pulsed through every nerve in his body. He wasn’t even consciously trying to, but he felt himself squeeze Brian’s cock in time with his heartbeat. Brian was sweating; Justin could feel it on Brian’s scalp and taste it on his lips and feel it on his sides, making his legs slip and causing him to strengthen his grip. Still Brian did not move any part of his body except his lips and tongue. And then . . .

. . . suddenly, unexpectedly, Brian thrust his tongue into Justin’s mouth and came with a soft moan that was so _primal_ that it seemed to Justin that he could taste it as well as hear it.

Justin had never experienced anything like it or even imagined it. Brian had achieved his orgasm with nothing more than a kiss and the sensation of being inside Justin’s body, even though he wasn’t moving.

It was mind-blowing!

Justin wrapped his legs as tight around Brian’s waist as possible. He felt like he couldn’t bear it if Brian pulled out – he felt he’d lose something necessary for his survival. Brian kept kissing him with increasing softness until their lips were merely touching. Brian pulled out as slowly as he could, and Justin felt each fraction of an inch leave him. He ached with awe and pleasure, and when Brian pulled the head of his cock free, he felt tears fill his eyes.

There was simply _no_ way he could’ve misinterpreted what Brian had told him. Brian had told him, more intimately and unambiguously than any words ever could, that Justin didn’t have to be anyone else than who he was to make Brian happy – to give him pleasure both physically and emotionally. Justin’s body had been the sole source of his release. It’d been unnecessary to move any other muscle than his tongue. Justin would’ve never thought such a thing was possible if he hadn’t just experienced it.

Brian rose to his knees between Justin’s spread legs and peeled off the condom. Justin stared up at him, unwilling to speak of even move. 

“Ready for your own orgasm?” Brian murmured, moving to position himself for a blowjob, but Justin shook his head. Yes, he was hard, and his balls were screaming for relief, but somehow it didn’t feel right after what they’d just done. What they’d done felt sacred. He’d jerk off in the bathroom in a couple minutes, but right now he wanted Brian to hold him so close and so tight that Justin could feel his taut, rounded belly move with each breath.

He brushed the sweaty hair off of Brian’s forehead. “You’re going to really start showing soon,” he whispered. 

Brian smiled. “Yup,” he replied sounding totally unfazed.

Justin smiled back. If ever there was a glimpse into the enigma that was Brian, it was this new fearlessness. Shallow Brian wouldn’t be able to _bear_ the prospect of getting big. In fact, shallow Brian would’ve probably had an abortion rather than get big and have to deal with all the repercussions of a visible pregnancy.

Shallow Brian was fearful – his persona was a fortress that required defending to the death. But mystery Brian was marching alone onto the battlefield with eyes forward and chin up. Would he falter at some point? Who could say, but that day was not this day.

“I love you,” Justin said, and meant it as more than a declaration of “I will always love you because you were my first.” It was simply meant to convey that he loved Brian, in that moment, utterly and completely and with all of his heart and soul. If Brian was fearless, then Justin was going to be too. And if he wavered? If he wavered, it would be him, not Brian, who didn’t deserve the twins.

He knew that now . . . but all the same, he was still unsettled. Brian had surrendered them to Justin so easily . . . It was him, Justin, who Brian was fighting to keep, not the babies. At least it seemed that way.


	16. Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Justin have to stop hurting each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are going to want to stop reading at least a hundred times over the course this chapter. Don't! Stick it through to the end.

It was classic Brian.

“I’m off to work. Oh, by the way, I’m going to be busy on Saturdays for the foreseeable future. Deal with it. Later!”

*sound of door clanging shut*

Justin hadn’t even had time to open his mouth before Brian had vanished in an Armani whirlwind.

“Okkaayyy,” he said to the now-empty loft. The funny thing was that, as lame as that had been, it was still more information about his plans than Brian used to convey. Progress? Maybe. All Justin knew for sure was that if Brian wanted to spend Saturdays at the baths getting blown through glory holes, they were going to have yet another rip-roaring fight. 

Oh well, two could play the failure-to-communicate game. He hadn’t told Brian he was going shopping with his mom – and not at Nike Town.

“I know this idea may not be the wisest,” his mom said an hour later when Justin let her in. “But I think we should at least consider it.”

She stood looking around the loft as Justin put his shoes on. “Honey,” she said tentatively. “Have you and Brian discussed whether you’ll stay here after the babies are born? I can’t think of a worse place. There are no rooms! How are you going to be able to sleep when Brian’s up nursing? And what about him? Any time you want to give him a rest, you’ll have to leave. There are no _doors_ in this place.”

Justin wanted to laugh and say something snarky about the loft being as good a playpen as it is a fuck pad, but his mom wouldn’t see the humor in it. In fact, it would probably make her even more stressed out than she already was. Justin had seen her a couple of times since the gala, and every time she’d looked increasingly troubled and frayed.

“I almost wished I hadn’t told you,” he said. “You look like you’re not sleeping . . . and were those cigarettes I saw in your purse? I thought you’d stopped smoking ages ago.”

His mom blushed with embarrassment. “Just a couple a day – in case I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack.”

“Which is probably a lot more than twice a day.” He looked at her with dismay, but she waved his words away like smoke. 

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “You’ve got more than enough on your plate as it is.”

He gave her a sad smile. “I know you signed the divorce papers yesterday,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take you out for coffee afterward and make you laugh.”

She laughed. “Yes, because seeing you makes all those little worries melt away. God, Justin, life is giving us both whiplash these days. Now come on. Let’s go to Babies R Us . . . I hope we’re not making a mistake by doing this so soon, but I feel it’s important that you two start collecting a few things between now and November. You need to get used to having baby stuff around. You’re two men, for heaven’s sake. Neither of you are going to be nesting.”

They got on the elevator. “Nesting?” Justin asked. “Sounds like something birds and raccoons do.”

It was pouring outside, so the two of them ran as quickly as they could to the car. Even so, they were drenched when they got in and slammed the doors shut.

“Ugh!” his mom said. “We should’ve picked a better day.” She turned on the car, cranked up the heat and backed out of the “visitor parking” spot. “Nesting,” she continued when they joined the traffic on the street, “is what a pregnant female mammal does while she’s waiting for her babies to be born. She wants to make sure there’s a safe, comfortable space for them when they arrive. Once her babies are born, she’ll have no time and energy to do anything else except care for them.”

Justin laughed. Just the thought of Brian “nesting” was hilarious! He’d be squirreling away shoes, porn, Doritos and anal beads.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Brian’s not going to be building a nest,” Justin said, still laughing at the thought.

His mom chuckled. “I don’t think so either, but then again, Brian _is_ very particular about his space. I mean, look at the loft. I’ve also been to his office – it’s very nice too – and very Brian.”

“I hardly think we’re going to find an Italian leather crib or a stainless steel changing table,” Justin said.

“Which is exactly why I think we need to start getting you guys – well, _him_ , I should say – used to baby things. They’re neither masculine nor sexy, and you’re going to be surrounded by them for years. I know your father had a hard time with that at first. It all felt like silly clutter to him, and if Craig felt that way, you _know_ Brian will. . . . And, Justin, have you considered the possibility that the twins might be girls?”

Justin’s jaw dropped as he turned to look at her. She laughed. 

“Why am I not surprised to learn you guys didn’t even have the idea of girls on your radar? I have to laugh or else I’ll cry. Five months is not _even_ close to being long enough to prepare you two for the tsunami that’s going to slam into your lives right around Thanksgiving.”

“Oh God,” Justin groaned into his hands. “Girls. Oh my God. Brian and I are _totally_ fucked if the twins are girls.”

“Well, I definitely suggest you find out the babies’ genders as soon as possible,” his mom said as they pulled into the mall parking lot. “Two gay men raising two little girls would be quite a challenge. At least they’d have their aunt Molly.”

Justin groaned again as they got out of the car and bolted across the parking lot. As soon as they stepped through the sliding doors, Justin was assaulted by the sight of sheer _mountains_ of baby stuff.

“ _Holy shit!_ ” he breathed.

“Indeed,” his mom said. “Now where should we go? I was thinking it would be a good idea to get car seats so that Brian can see how they work in his Jeep. My guess is that they won’t work particularly well, and you guys will need to get an SUV or something. But he needs to see that for himself. If someone just goes ahead and _tells_ him, his kneejerk response will be resistance.”

She was absolutely right. Justin laughed. “When did you start knowing Brian even better than I do?”

“He’s an open book to me, sweetheart,” she said. “I’ve always wondered why he isn’t to you as well; it’s all right there in his eyes.”

Justin wanted to ask her what she meant, but he had a feeling he might not want to hear the answer, so he left her remark blowing in the breeze like a sheet on a clothesline.

“Okay, well let’s go to the car seat section,” he said. “Where is it?” He turned in a full circle. Jesus! Who would’ve imagined there’d be so much shit for babies? Some people were getting very _very_ rich off of expecting parents.

His mom placed a hand on his arm. “Let’s start with something smaller,” she said.

Justin frowned. “Why? I thought your car seat idea was perfect.”

His mom took a deep breath and turned away for a moment. It was obvious she didn’t want to answer his question.

“Because,” she said. “There may never be babies to sit in them, and having to see them sitting there empty in the back of the Jeep will be devastating. Justin, you _have_ to keep in mind that the odds against both twins surviving sound daunting. I think we should wait a couple more months before buying big items.”

“They will survive,” Justin said flatly. “I know that will.”

His mom cupped his cheek. “You _don’t_ know,” she said. “You _hope_ they will, but hoping isn’t knowing.”

“You sound like Brian,” he said and started walking for the doors as fast as he could. Why had his mom done that? He’d been so looking forward to this shopping trip, and she’d completely ruined it. He dashed tears from his eyes with an angry, impatient gesture. The twins were going to live. They weren’t going to die. Miracles can’t turn into nightmares.

His mother came running after him calling his name. He stopped and let her catch up. It was no longer pouring, but a cold drizzle was still falling. He didn’t give a shit.

“Sweetie,” she said. “Let’s either go back inside or talk about this in the car.”

“Why?” Justin said. “To make this conversation more comfortable? Fuck the rain! We will _not_ lose the babies! I don’t even want to entertain the possibility, so if all you want to do is ‘prepare me ahead of time,’ then take me back to the loft.”

His mom sighed. Maybe if was just rain, but he was pretty sure she was crying.

“Justin, baby,” she said. “You cannot stick your head in the sand. Denying the truth is not going to make it go away.”

“We just saw Dr. Bernstein yesterday. He said everything was fine. The babies’ heartbeats are normal. Their size is normal. Brian’s weight and hormone levels are perfect. There was nothing wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean there won’t be in the future,” his mom said. “Honey, let’s go back in the store and buy a little something. Just not anything huge and expensive, okay? I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“You can ‘look out for me’ by not talking about death,” he said. “You can ‘look out for me’ by being excited for us.”

“I _am_ excited for you!” she said. “But I’m also afraid. Complications with this pregnancy aren’t _possible_ ; they’re _probable_ , and you need to be alert for any sign that something is wrong. Denying reality isn’t going to help Brian or the babies – in fact, it could make things worse. You’re not the one with pregnancy hormones coursing through your veins. You think Brian is going to be able to make hard calls? Right now everything that’s happening in his body is preparing him to go to great lengths to insure that the babies survive – even at his own expense. He does not and will not have a clear mind. That’s _your_ job, Justin.”

He merely stared at her as the truth of her words sank into his bones. Eventually he swallowed the lump in his throat. She was right.

“Are we going to get something or not?” his mom asked. Justin nodded. She hugged him and kissed his cheek.

In the end, they settled on two sea-green baby blankets with whales on them. The fabric they were made from was the softest thing Justin had ever felt. He wished he and Brian had one of their own. They also got two maroon snugglies and two sand pillows that were the size and weight of a month-old infant. They were designed to break in dads with no experience of holding and carrying babies.

“This’ll make you an old hand in no time,” the cheerful salesgirl told Justin. “Just wear it around the house for a while every day. When is baby coming?”

Justin felt himself beaming. “Actually, it’s _two_ babies, and they’re due the end of November.”

“Oh how exciting!” she said. “Mommy must have her baby bump by now.”

Both Justin and his mom had to bite their tongues to keep from cracking up.

“Yeah, there’s a bump,” Justin said. “It’s pretty small though.”

The girl looked as though she was doing math in her head for a moment. “The beginning of the second trimester,” she said. “It’ll happen fast. She’ll go to bed one night with a cute little bump and wake up in the morning looking as though she’d swallowed a cantaloupe. And your wife is carrying twins. She’s going to be _huge_! I hope you’re good at giving foot rubs, daddy.”

Justin couldn’t stop smiling. No one, not even Brian, had talked about the pregnancy in such glowing, happy terms. The girl didn’t know about complications; all she knew was that two babies were growing and getting ready make their debut.

“Make sure you bring them by,” she said as she rang up their purchases. “I’d love to see them. Any guess as to the color of their eyes?”

“I have blue eyes, and my boyfr . . . uh, my partner has hazel eyes. I’m hoping for hazel. He’s . . . I mean, she’s got beautiful eyes.”

The salesgirl blinked and looked confused for a second, but then she took Justin’s slips perfectly in stride. She must’ve figured she’d misheard him. When he and his mom got back to the car, they broke down in hysterics.

“Oh God, I can’t _wait_ to see Brian in his snugglie!” Justin said. “That’s if I can get him into one.” He sighed, feeling wistful. If Brian really was a woman, Justin wouldn’t have to twist his arm. He’d be just as carefree and unself-conscious as Justin was.

“He’ll figure it out,” his mom said as though she’d read his mind. “He’ll have to.”

She started the car, and they headed for the nearest Wendy’s. Justin was quiet the whole way. Should he say anything? He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he did want someone to talk to, and his mom, having raised two children, was a better source of advice than Daphne would be.

They ordered their meals and parked in a spot at the far end of the parking lot.

“Okay,” his mom said. “Out with it.”

He laughed. “Will I be as clairvoyant with the twins as you are with me?”

“Interesting question,” she said. “I’ve always thought my ability to read my children came from the fact that I carried and gave birth to them.”

“In which case,” Justin said morosely. “Brian’s going to be the clairvoyant one, not me.”

“I have no idea,” his mom said, trying to lighten the tone. “Who knows how it’ll be with two males. I suppose it’s anyone’s guess, but I do imagine there will be _some_ kind of a special bond between Brian and the twins. They were conceived and grew in his body, and he’ll be the one to give birth to them. It’ll be very interesting to see what happens.”

Justin took a deep breath and released it. “I’ve been thinking really hard about whether Brian and I should live apart after the babies are born . . . not break up, but live in separate places. That way he could keep the loft.”

His mom turned to him with a frown. “How on earth would that work? And when would it happen? Have you and Brian discussed how long he’ll nurse? Depending on how it goes for him and the babies, he might nurse for a year or more. Why would you want to be separated from your children like that and for so long? Those first months are essential for healthy bonding with _both_ parents.”

Oh God. How was she going to react to the rest of his potential plan?

“ _I_ wouldn’t be separated from them,” he said. “I’d have primary custody. The babies would be with me most of the time . . .”

“Justin!” his mom interrupted. “Are you serious? I can’t believe what I’m hearing! You’d take newborns away from their nursing parent for no good reason?”

“Brian could use a breast pump or something.”

His mom shook her head disbelievingly. “Have you run that past Brian? Whether or not he in fact plans to nurse, he’s going to be furious if the option is taken away from him. And, seriously, you really expect Brian to use a breast pump? I certainly can’t imagine it. My guess is that if he nurses at all, he’ll want to do it the way nature intended. And will Brian just give up the babies that easily?”

“When we discussed it, he seemed to agree with me that I’d be the better parent . . .”

“ _Seemed_? Just wait until you try to take those little babies out of his arms and walk out the door! If someone had tried to do that with you and Molly, I would’ve torn them to ribbons with my teeth! Regardless of Brian’s feelings in the long run, after he gives birth every cell in his body is going to fight to keep those babies beside him and under his care. That’s how nature designed things. Babies need their mothers . . .”

“But Brian won’t be their _mother_! He’ll be their other father!”

“I will be _shocked_ if Brian makes that distinction. Male or not, he’s carrying them . . .”

Justin made a gesture of frustration. How could his mother, of all people, think that Brian should – or even could – raise the twins?

“Mom, listen to me,” he said. “As soon as he can, Brian will go back to his preferred lifestyle. He’ll want to go to bars and clubs. He’ll want to have sex with other guys. He might even start drinking and doing drugs again. I have no idea how long he intends to stay sober after the twins are born . . .”

“You have no idea if Brian intends to stay sober,” his mom said. She sounded incredulous. “Just out of curiosity, what _else_ do you have ‘no idea about’? Do you two _ever_ talk? My God, what a mess you kids are! And you’re planning to raise babies? Forget taking Brian’s custody away, _neither_ of you should have custody until you shape the hell up!”

Justin was appalled. “ _Me?_ he said. “I can raise the twins. I _know_ I can. I think about it all the time . . .”

“But apparently you haven’t bothered to discuss your thoughts with the person who’s actually _carrying_ them . . .”

“We did discuss it the other day, and Brian _agreed_ I’d be a better parent and that he shouldn’t have the responsibility of raising them. Even _he_ distrusts his ability to raise them. It’s not just me.”

His mom turned on the car. “I’m taking you back to Brian’s,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been so angry at you.”

He reached out and took the keys away.

“I can _not_ understand why you don’t agree me,” he cried. “You don’t even _like_ Brian! You probably wouldn’t trust him with your houseplants! Before he got pregnant, Brian was adamant about _never_ changing the way he lived. All he wanted to do was dance, party and fuck! If he lives with the twins, he simply can’t go back to living like that, and I don’t want to have to wonder all the fucking time if he’s left them alone to go off doing his thing. He did exactly that with Gus once, and now Mel and Lindsay won’t trust him to take care of Gus anymore!”

“But Brian wouldn’t be alone,” his mom insisted. “You’d be there with him . . .”

“Great. So I can care for the babies while he’s out fucking and doing drugs? No _way_! We’ll end up killing each other! It would be a disaster! We’d both end up in jail, and the twins would end up in foster care!”

“First of all, the twins _will_ never end up in foster care. Deb and I would be fighting for custody. Neither of us would ever let them be taken away and raised by God only knows who. And second of all . . . Justin, you _cannot_ possibly predict now what Brian will be like and what he’ll want or do. You’re so convinced he’ll return to his old life. You’re right, I have a lot of problems with Brian and his lifestyle, but I still know for a fact that being pregnant and giving birth will change him more than you – or he – could ever even imagine. The fact that you’re trying to decide _custody_ when the babies aren’t even born is outrageous! Give him a chance, honey. You _have_ to. Go down the lawsuit route and I seriously fear for you both. Unless you _know_ for a fact that Brian will endanger the twins, do _not_ try to take them away from him. The very thought of it breaks my heart. I hate to say it, sweetheart, but _you’re_ the one less suited to raise those babies if you could ever imagine it would be good for them to take them away from the person who brought them into the world.”

Justin was seriously shaken. And what could he say to defend himself? His mom was superimposing her own experience on top of Brian and the twins. The situation wasn’t even comparable. His mom wasn’t Brian. And she never had to worry that his father was going to go out partying and having sex every night with complete strangers . . .

. . . but she was right in one sense: Brian was going to change. He’d already started to. But would those changes last beyond the twins’ birth?

“All I’m saying is give him a chance,” his mom said, reading his mind once again. “If your fears turn out to be justified . . . well, then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But you don’t have a crystal ball, and sometimes the past really _isn’t_ the best predictor of the future – especially when there’s been an intervening experience like pregnancy and birth . . . and maybe even a near-death experience . . . no, don’t hold your hand up. What _if_ Brian almost dies? What if one of the twins doesn’t survive? You will not recognize the Brian who will emerge from either of those scenarios – for good or for bad. Stop trying to read tea leaves before the tea’s even been brewed.”

Justin nodded and handed her back the keys. The conversation had exhausted him. All he wanted was to go home and sleep . . . and hold Brian if he was there. Confused as he was, Justin couldn’t imagine a world without Brian in it – and he couldn’t imagine surviving if Brian died, which was crazy! Here he was constantly weighing the pros and cons of leaving Brian . . . But leaving him was not the same thing as losing him. Not even close. He could leave Brian – he might even ultimately decide to do just that . . . but if Brian died . . . A glimpse down that path revealed nothing but darkness as thick and as black as tar.

 

Justin had just gotten home from his Saturday afternoon shift at the diner when Brian staggered into the loft, stumbled over the rug and collapsed on the couch. When Justin asked what was going on, he just groaned and shook his head.

“Water,” he croaked.

Justin went to the kitchen. Fear pooled in his belly like molten lead. Was Brian drunk? He returned to the living room and handed Brian the bottle. Brian drained it in four gulps.

Ecstasy makes you thirsty. Oh God . . . had he been taking E?

Brian threw the empty bottle in the direction of the kitchen. It didn’t get very far.

“Opps,” he said and closed his eyes.

“Uhm, is everything alright?” Justin asked. “You seem . . .”

“Pooped. Why, oh why, did I do this to myself?” Brian moaned. “Why on earth did I think it was a good idea?” He sniffed under his arms. “Jesus, I stink! Don’t they ever clean that fucking place?”

It hit Justin like a cannonball fired from close range. Brian had been at the baths. He’d been at the baths and gotten completely fucked up. He’d been at the baths, gotten completely fucked up and had sex with God only knows how many guys.

Jesus. What the fuck was Justin going to do? The deeds were already done – what _could_ he do?

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked. “Maybe if you . . . if you get some food in your stomach you’ll feel better.” Brian _must_ be able to hear his heart pounding with heavy, nauseating thuds.

“Yeah, good idea,” Brian said. His voice was hoarse – probably from drinking shots of Beam and shouting during his orgasms. “I didn’t eat anything. The food there is disgusting.”

Justin pulled out the bread and banged the cabinet door shut. He snorted ruefully. The “food” at the baths really was disgusting. God only knew how old the shit in the vending machines was. Adonis had a ‘snack bar’ for people who liked to spend the whole day (and night) without having to leave to grab a burger. Just the smell of the “soup of the day” mixed with the moist, clingy odor of sweat, sex and moldy towels used to make Justin’s stomach turn over. He and Brian used to put Vics Vapor Rub on their upper lips if the atmosphere was too funky. _Try to breathe through your mouth as much as possible_ , Brian had advised him the first time they went there together. _And avoid the toilet stalls in the bathroom at all costs. If you’ve gotta piss, use the urinal, and if it’s clogged, use a sink. Just, in the name of all things holy (get it? Hahaha), do NOT go into a stall. Sadly, there are assholes (get it?) who don’t do their enemas at home like civilized people. ‘Nuff said._

Just where he wanted the babies to spend their Saturday afternoons – it didn’t matter that they were in utero, the thought made Justin want to maim someone. Ideally the baths’ owners . . . and patrons . . . even whoever the fuck it was who made the fucking soup of the day!

“Sandwich,” Brian said from the couch. “Give me. Now.”

Justin didn’t bother opening the bread bag in the manner the bag designers had intended. Instead, he ripped it open, pulled out a couple slices, slapped on some mustard and threw the knife in the sink, shattering an empty glass that was in it.

“What the fuck?” Brian said without sitting up.

“Opps, my bad,” Justin replied. “At least now there’s a new ingredient for your sandwich. Perhaps you’d like some broken glass with your turkey, lettuce and mustard on rye? Nice and crunchy, yum yum yum.”

This time Brian sat up.

“Okay,” he said. “What the fuck is wrong with you? And let me just suggest that, before you answer that question, you pull the stick out of your ass and beat yourself over the head with it.” He laughed and collapsed back down on the couch.

Justin froze. Brian must be _really_ hammered! He was always careful not to make jokes about Justin getting hit in the head.

“Excuse me?” he said.

Brian groaned. “Shit,” he said. “Sorry. That sucked. It’s just that I’m fucking tired and hungry and you want to feed me broken glass for some reason. I fucking _hate_ it when you do shit like this. If you’ve got a fucking bug up your ass, then fucking tell me what it is. Don’t be a dick. I’ll ask you again: What the fucking fuck is your fucking problem?”

Justin slapped the sandwich on the plate. “Anything on the side,” he asked. “Chips? Pickle? Two aspirins and a shot of penicillin?” 

Silence.

And then it happened so fast . . .

Brian was right there, grabbing Justin’s shoulders and shaking him with all his strength. And then Brian shoved him against the refrigerator door so hard that juicer fell off and crashed on the floor.

“You think I’ve been drinking,” Brian hissed. “You think I’ve been at the baths.”

“Yes, in fact, that is _exactly_ what I think!” Justin yelled in his face. “I’m not a fucking IDIOT!”

Brian drew back his fist for a close-range punch, but in the last fraction of an instant, he opened his hand and slammed it into the refrigerator within a mere inch of Justin’s face.

Justin could barely recognize Brian’s face; it was so warped and twisted with rage. If Justin believed he’d seen Brian angry before, he realized that it’d been only a pale shadow of what he was seeing now.

Brian grabbed him by the throat, and it crossed Justin’s mind . . . Brian might kill him. When Brian started to squeeze his fingers, Justin struggled with all his might to escape. When suddenly Brian just simply let go, Justin ran to the door. But he stopped before opening it. He was _not_ going to run away.

Brian stalked toward him, his right hand clenched in a fist. Did Brian even know what he was doing?

“Is this going to be what you plan to do to the twins when you come through the door after a binge?” Justin yelled. “I don’t want to tell you who this makes me think of!”

Brian was shaking all over with absolute fury. “Five fucking seconds,” he said. “That’s how long you have to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

Justin straightened his shoulders and held up his chin. “Or what?” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. And _you_ are going to take a fucking shower and go to bed. I’m not going to leave! Are you fucking crazy? You don’t get to just throw me out! You might go to the liquor store! I have to stay to protect . . .”

Brian’s smile turned sickly – scary – sweet. “Oh right,” he said. “Someone needs to make sure I don’t kill the babies.” His laugh made chills run up and down Justin’s spine. He’d _never_ seen Brian like this; he’d never even imagined it was possible!

“Justin, I’m serious,” he said almost pleadingly. “I think I could kill you right now . . .”

To Justin’s horror, Brian turned, went to the kitchen and got a knife. 

Things had gotten _dangerously_ out of hand.

“Leave,” Brian said with a terrible calm. “And go to Lindsay’s.”

“Why?” Justin asked. It seemed like the last thing Brian should want. What if he told Mel and Lindsay about what’d almost happened – or at least _might’ve_ happened. And surely Brian wouldn’t want Justin to tell them he was drunk . . .

“Because I fucking TOLD YOU TO! Get out, Justin!”

“But . . .” He started to cry. Everything was wrong. Everything in their whole fucking world was wrong

“No buts.”

“I can’t . . .”

“Oh, yes, you can . . . and you will. This is _my_ home. Give me your fucking phone.”

“You’re _nuts_ if you think I’m going to get anywhere near you! You’ve got a fucking _knife_ in your hand, Brian!”

Brian looked at the knife as though he didn’t remember having picked it up. He dropped it into the sink as though it’d burned him. And then he stared at his hand; he looked stunned. Then he looked at Justin again.

“Throw it to me,” he said.

Justin got his phone out of his pocket, but he didn’t throw it. What if he needed to call 911?

“Now,” Brian said.

Justin took a deep, shaky breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them a second later, he tossed the phone into Brian’s waiting grasp and watched him dial.

“Hey, Linds, it’s me,” he said in a perfectly calm, normal voice. “Justin’s going to be there in fifteen minutes. Make sure you have tea and cookies ready. Bye.”

He hung up the phone and tossed it back to Justin who barely caught before it fell on the floor.

“I’m not going,” he said.

Brian ignored him and went upstairs. Justin heard the shower turn on.

Jesus fucking Christ! Was Brian insane? Should he call Dr. Bernstein and ask about hospitalization. Brian was making a good case for involuntary admission!

“GO!” Brian yelled.

“Brian!” he yelled, his voice catching on tears. “How do you expect me to go? What will you do after I leave?

“I’ll go to bed,” Brian shouted. “Now GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOME! Do _not_ let me see you when I get out of this shower, because God as my fucking witness, Justin . . . I don’t know what I’ll do! Leave, now. For _all_ of our sakes!”

It was the allusion to the babies that finally made up Justin’s mind. Even if Brian did go to the liquor store after Justin left, alcohol couldn’t possibly be worse than the violent emotions ripping Brian’s mind to shreds . . .

“Okay!” he shouted, his voice still catching on tears. “I’m leaving now! I don’t want to, but I will!”

There was no reply.

 

When Mel opened the door, she grabbed his arm and pulled him inside.

“Oh my God!” she cried. “Justin, baby, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you okay. Why does your throat look red? Lindsay!”

Justin looked up as Lindsay came running down the stairs. She froze when she saw Justin. Her hand flew to her chest like a startled bird.

“Justin?” she said, clearly already on the verge of tears. “What’s going on? Why did Brian tell me you were coming over? Does he know you’re upset?”

“Forget ‘upset,’” Mel said. “He looks traumatized. C’mon into the living room, sweetie, and sit down. Jesus, you’re shaking all over!”

Justin walked slowly as though his body was made from fine china that’d started to crack. When he reached the sofa, he sat on the very edge, his back straight and rigid.

“Can we get you anything?” Lindsay asked. “Water, tea?”

Justin merely shook his head. He wasn’t sure he could speak, let alone swallow something.

“Okay,” she said and nodded to Mel who’d been standing wringing her hands. Mel sat down on one side of Justin and Lindsay said down on the other side. For a moment, Justin was powerfully aware of the smell of apple pie baking in the kitchen. It felt so normal . . . so innocent.

He started to cry and couldn’t stop. Both Mel and Lindsay rubbed his back soothingly and waited patiently for his tears to stop. When they finally did, Lindsay got up and went to the kitchen. He heard her fill the kettle.

“Bring me a cup too,” Mel called to her. “And make it decaf.”

“We’re _all_ getting decaf,” Lindsay called back. “Especially after the afternoon I had, Good lord! Brian kept buying me coffee. I thought my head was going to pop off.”

Justin’s head snapped up. “Brian?” he said. “You saw Brian today?”

“Mel?” Lindsay said. “Why don’t you give Justin the rough outline, and I’ll fill in the details when the tea’s ready.”

Justin turned to Mel. He was holding his breath. What was she going to say that would make any sense in the world that Justin was inhabiting at the moment?

“Well, the long and short of it is that Brian took Gus – and Linds – to Chuck E. Cheese this afternoon.”

Justin’s jaw dropped. “ _Excuse me?_ ” he said.

“I know,” Mel said. “I was shocked to. He showed up around eleven . . . after not having bothered to call ahead of time, I’ll add.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Lindsay said from the kitchen. “I’d talked with him about it on Thursday.”

Mel made an irritated face. “It would've been nice of you to have let me know.”

“I did! You must’ve just repressed it. I told you . . .”

Justin waved his arms in a “Time Out” gesture. “I’m sorry to be rude,” he said, “but I really need to hear about Brian.”

“Like I said,” Mel continued. “He showed up around eleven and announced he wanted to take Gus to Chuck E. Cheese. After I awoke from my dead faint and rose from the floor, I said something alone the lines of ‘the fuck you are.’ At which point, my darling wife intervened and said she’d go too. I still wasn’t psyched about the idea, but I couldn’t think of a good reason to prohibit it, so they left, Gus squealing with glee as they walked out the door. Fucking asshole . . . not Gus! I mean Brian. Considering how little he’s been around, Gus shouldn’t even _recognize_ the bastard let alone lose his head with excitement the second he walks through the door. It’s fucking annoying as hell . . .”

“Anyway,” Linds interrupted, emerging from the kitchen with a tea tray and setting it on the coffee table. “Brian and I took Gus to Chuck E. Cheese, which I confess I’d always said I’d die before going to. And it lived up to my prediction, but Gus acted like he’d died and gone to toddler heaven. You should’ve seen Brian! It was hilarious! He clearly hated every second of it, but every time I suggested we leave, he refused. He said we’d hang out until Gus wore himself out. All three of us were _exhausted_ when we got in the Jeep. Brian was adamant about taking Gus to that McDonald’s by Home Depot – you know, the one with the huge play area. I put my foot down, and said no flipping way. Gus had fallen asleep; I was ready to saw my feet off they hurt so much, and I didn’t think it was good for Brian to keep running around after a toddler, so we called it quits for the day.”

Mel shook her head incredulously. “Can you fucking _believe_ it? And it gets even weirder: Brian said he wants to take care of Gus every Saturday! Crazy shit!”

Lindsay sighed irritably. “It’s _not_ crazy. Isn’t it obvious what’s going on? He’s practicing for the twins . . .”

Justin stood up. He couldn’t sit still another second. He braced his hands on the table and stood staring down at his refection in the polished wood. He looked just as stricken as he felt.

“Justin?” Lindsay said. “What’s going on? Did you two get in a fight?”

“You could say that,” Justin replied ruefully. “It was pretty much the mother of all fights – easily the worst we’ve ever had.” He sighed and began pacing, all the while shaking his hands, trying to get the feeling back into them. They were tingling – probably from a shortage of oxygen.

“Shit,” Mel said with a sigh.

“Please tell me!” Lindsay pleaded. “Is Brian okay?”

“Is Brian the only one you can think of?” Mel snapped. “I mean, look at Justin! Whatever happened was obviously terrifying!”

Lindsay stood and grabbed the tea tray. “Can we _please_ stop having this argument. There are more important things to talk about right now. I simply asked how Brian was because he’s in a very vulnerable state, and he was exhausted after chasing around after Gus all afternoon. Excuse me, if I’m a bit worried about him.”

Justin stopped pacing. His head was going to explode if they didn’t stop squabbling. “Please!” he said. “Please don’t argue. I can’t take it.”

Both Lindsay and Mel looked contrite.

“Of course, sweetie,” Mel said.

“ _Is_ Brian okay?” Lindsay asked again.

“Yes . . . no . . . _fuck_ I don't know. God, I did a terrible thing! As usual, he didn’t tell me where he’d been, so when he came home tired and hungry and weird, I just assumed he’d been drinking and fucking all day. We got in a fight about it . . .”

He decided he was not going to reveal how words had almost come to blows. That was between him and Brian, and he shuddered to think how Mel would react.

“. . . I accused . . . Jesus _fucking_ Christ! I accused him of being like his father.”

“Oh, Justin,” Lindsay said sadly. “I know you must’ve said it because you were so upset, but there really wasn’t anything worse you could’ve said.”

Justin covered his face with his hands. He was burning with shame and on the edge of tears again.

“He’d . . . he’d been with his son,” he hic-cupped. “Oh God, I deserve to be thrown out of his life forever.”

Mel snorted. “It’s not like he hasn’t said worse things to you.”

“I don’t _care_!” Justin shouted. “That was the past! Everything’s changed now! God, why can’t I _trust_ him?”

“Maybe because he hasn’t given you any reason to,” Mel replied.

Lindsay returned from kitchen. Her face was pink with anger. “That is simply _not_ true!” she shouted at Mel. “Justin, has Brian ever lied to you? Has he ever said one thing to your face and done the opposite behind your back?”

Justin shook his head miserably. “But . . . it’s the babies, Linds,” he said. “The babies are making me _crazy_. They’re probably making him crazy too! He used to only hurt himself; now if he drinks and does drugs and fucks indiscriminately, he might be hurting them too. I worry he can’t possibly care enough to protect them if the temptation got too great.”

Lindsay turned on him. Apparently she was now angry at him. “Then you haven’t been paying attention! If that’s what you think, you don’t know anything. You should’ve seen him today. I don’t think his hand left his belly once unless to play with Gus. I asked him if he didn’t feel well, and he looked surprise and said he was fine. I don’t think he even realizes that he is constantly touching his belly. It’s instinct. He’s _in love_ with those babies, Justin. With every fiber of his being, conscious or unconscious.”

Justin collapsed in the armchair. He’d never felt so drained.

“I know,” he said wearily. “You’re right. I’m a fucking asshole.”

“It doesn’t seem to me like beating yourself up is going to help the situation,” Mel said gently. “Let’s think about what to do _now_ and not dwell on what’s already occurred. Linds? Any ideas?”

Linds sighed. “Well, one thing I know is that he shouldn’t be left alone. Justin, why don’t you and I go to the loft? Things will go better if I’m there.”

Justin nodded. She was probably right.

“I just have to warn you,” he said. “He might still be really _really_ pissed.”

“Then we’ll just have to deal with it,” Lindsay said. “What choice do we have? He shouldn’t be left alone. What if something happens?” She started to cry. Mel got up and wrapped her arms around her.

“Don’t tilt at windmills,” she said gently. “Just get your asses over there. And call me if you need to – that’s an _order_.”

Lindsay sniffled and gave her a little smile. “Alright,” she said. “Justin, let’s go.”

 

The first thing they smelled when they walked through the door of the loft was alcohol. The first thing they saw was a three-quarter empty bottle of Beam on the kitchen island. And the first thing they heard was a vicious, taunting laugh from the couch. Justin was so stunned with horror that he froze on the threshold. It was Lindsay who ran in; snatched the glass out of Brian’s hand; threw it against the wall, and slapped Brian’s face so hard that she made his nose bleed. She would’ve leapt on him and started pummeling him except that Justin ran over and pulled her off him.

“Jesus, Wendy,” Brian slurred, dabbing at his bleeding nose with his t-shirt. “You can really pack a wallop for a girl.”

“I’m not Wendy!” she screamed at him. “And right now, I’m not even your friend! What the _fuck_ are you doing?!”

Brian laughed until he got the hic-cups. “Holy shit,” he said. “You just said ‘fuck.’ You must really be pissed off!”

“I hate you!” she screamed. “But not as much as you’re going to hate yourself when you sober up!”

“Linds,” Justin said, trying to calm her if even just a little bit. He had to admit, though, that he was glad _she_ was saying what needed to be said and not him.

“Now you are going to go to that bathroom!” she yelled. “And you are going to kneel in front of that toilet, and you’re going to stick your finger down your throat until you puke!”

Brian stared at her, his jaw dropped. Had she ever talked to him before like that? Justin was pretty sure she hadn’t.

When Brian didn’t move, she ran to the bedroom and came back with Brian’s wallet.

“I am going to do something to you that might cause you to hate me for the rest of your life, but, Brian Kinney, do you want to know something? I DON’T CARE!”

She opened Brian’s wallet and pulled something out. For a second, Justin didn’t know what it was, and then it hit him. It was the photo from the first ultrasound. They hadn't been able to see much, but it’d been clear enough that they could make out two distinct blobs.

Lindsay marched over to Brian and threw the photo on his chest.

“Remember how many times you showed that to me today? Probably not because you’re drunk. I’ll tell you. You showed it to me five times, Bri! Five times!”

Brian stared up at her, and their eyes locked, but she didn’t look away. It was Brian who did. After a moment, he picked up the photo and stared at it for a long time . . .

. . . then he got up and ran to the bathroom. It wasn’t long before Justin heard him vomit and vomit until clearly there was nothing left in his stomach. And then Brian started to sob. The anguish was so obvious that it all but tore Justin’s heart out. He looked at Lindsay. All the color that’d been in her face had vanished. She looked like she might pass out.

“Which of us?” Justin whispered.

“You,” she whispered in reply. “I’m going to call a cab and go home.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

She shook her head but smiled anyway. “I’m not the one you should be worrying about,” she replied. “Go to him.”

And then she was gone.

Brian was still sobbing when Justin reached the bathroom. He hadn’t even bothered removing his head from the toilet bowl as if he didn’t feel he deserved to lie down. Justin knelt beside him and began smoothing his hand over Brian’s back.

“Oh, God, what have I _done_?” It wasn’t so much words as it was an agonized groan.

“Sshhh,” Justin said soothingly.

“You must hate me,” Brian said. “I would if I was you.”

“I don’t hate you,” Justin said. “Listen, why don’t we get in the shower, okay? And then get you something to eat. I’ll call for delivery while you get undressed.”

Brian lifted his head out of the toilet and nodded.

Justin went downstairs and called for a pizza delivery. Large, just cheese. When he hung up he headed back to the bathroom. He was astonished at himself. He felt so calm, so in control of the situation. And then it hit him: This is what his mother had been talking about when she said he had to keep a clear head – that keeping a clear head was his job.

Brian was standing under the stream of water, his head bowed. Justin joined him and started washing his back.

“You were right, you know,” Brian said after a minute. “I am like my dad.”

Justin turned him around and lifted his chin, forcing Brian to look in his eyes.

“You are _not_ like your father,” he said fiercely. “I said what I did out of anger. It’s not true, Brian.”

Predictably Brian said, “You don’t know that.”

Justin gave Brian’s chin a little shake. “Actually I _do_ ,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Lindsay told me where you were today, and that’s why you sent me over there, because you wanted me to know, but because you are who you fucking are, you weren’t going to tell me yourself. Brian, your father would _never_ have set foot in a place like Chuck E. Cheese. _Neither_ of your parents would’ve. But you did, even though it must’ve rubbed your every last nerve the wrong way.”

Brian gave him a tiny smile. “Yeah,” he said. “It did.”

“But you stuck with it.” Justin returned his smile. “You’re amazing,” he said. “You’re going to be the best father ever.”

Brian turned his head and started to cry again. Justin wrapped his arms around him and held him as close and tight as possible.

“But . . . But I drank,” Brian said, choking on his words. “I was so fucking angry at you. And now . . . God, Justin! What if I hurt them?!”

Justin did his best to soothe him again. “We’re going to call Dr. Bernstein as soon as we get out of the shower, and we’ll make the earliest appointment possible, even if we have to drag the poor guy out of bed at 4 in the morning.”

Brian huffed out a little laugh that made Justin kiss him despite the nauseating mixture of Beam and vomit. “Turn around so I can shampoo your hair,” Justin said. Brian did as he was told and sighed as Justin massaged his scalp.

“We have to stop hurting each other,” Brian said after a minute. “It stops _now_.” He reached up, took one of Justin’s sudsy hands and pressed his lips against Justin’s palm. “Okay?” he said.

Justin put all of his heart and soul into his voice when he spoke his simple answer. “Okay,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a major turning point for our parents-to-be. Stay tuned . . . .


	17. Barney's, Bergdorf and Saks Fifth Avenue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian is one Goddamn brave son of a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you we've turned a corner! From one type of angst to another :D

If you had asked Justin a year ago what it was like to go clothes shopping with Brian, he would’ve compared it to a really long, really slow, really boring parade. Brian didn’t shop like Justin did: Justin went into a store, grabbed everything he liked off the racks, tried it all on as quickly as humanly possible, decided he wanted everything, and then told his mom to whip out her credit card. The fact that he often ended up hating half the stuff he’d bought seemed a small price to pay for efficiency. Brian, on the other hand, went to every store he wanted to shop in and browsed without trying anything on. He’d start at Saks then move on to Nordstrom; after that it was the boutiques: Luis Vuitton, Armani, Gucci and Prada. And then, when Justin started to wish he was dead, Brian went back to Saks and tried things on; then to Nordstrom; then to the boutique stores . . . without making purchases. In fact, Brian made no purchases at all until he’d tried everything on in every store – only then would the Gold Card come out. It was an all-day affair that Justin had only tolerated in the early, heady days of his Brian Kinney Obsession. Now, Brian couldn’t even _drag_ him to Rose Park Mall.

This, however, was what it was like shopping with Brain _before_ he was eighteen-weeks, three-days, and fourteen hours pregnant (and, yes, Justin really _was_ keeping track of hours). Now, shopping had stopped being coma-inducing drudgery and instead become an honest-to-God Sisyphean task. Pittsburgh and the Rose Park Mall were no longer a high enough mountain. Brian needed the Kangchenjunga, K2 and Everest of all department stores, namely Bergdorf Goodman, Saks’ flagship store on (where else?) Fifth Avenue, and Barney’s on Madison. Brian no longer required a twelve-hour day of shopping – he required an entire weekend.

In other words, Brian and Justin and the twins were New York City bound.

The decision was made one evening when Brian encountered the first gay man ever in the history of the world to look at Brian’s face with awe, sweep his hungry eyes downward, pause at Brian’s middle, and then . . . look away.

They’d been on the way to Babylon (a decision Justin wasn’t crazy about because the babies' ears had developed sufficiently to hear noises other than Brian’s gurgly stomach and guttural orgasmic moans) when it happened. Brian froze as the man walked past and said . . . .

“You’ve got the face of a god; too bad you’ve got the body of a Sumo wrestler. Do something about that gut, bro.”

“ _Bro_?” Emmett said, his mouth hanging open as they all turned to watch the guy walk away. “Did I hear that correctly? Brian, did that hunkilicious guy just call you ‘bro’? Because, if so, he needs a good, hard, spanking from a nelly bottom, which I will be happy to administer. What self-respecting gay man uses the word ‘bro,’ let alone uses it to refer to another gay man? What is this world – and by world, I mean Liberty Avenue – coming to?”

“Em,” Ted said, taking Emmett’s arm when Emmett looked like he might run after the guy and dole out his fifty whacks right then and there. “I don’t think Brian’s freaking out right now because the guy called him ‘bro.’ I think it was the reference to Sumo wrestling that stunned him into an uncustomary silence.” 

They were right. Brian had frozen mid-step. Shit.

Justin went to him, put his arms around him, covering his baby bump, and gave him a tender kiss. “Ignore him,” he said.

“Yeah, Bri,” Ted added. “Shake it off. That guy’s obviously an asshole.”

“Not to mention brain dead,” Emmett said. “Bump or no bump, you’re still the hottest guy in Pittsburgh, Brian . . . hey, where’d Michael go? He was just here . . . Oh shit.”

“HEY, ASSHOLE! COME BACK HERE! YOU CAN’T TALK TO HIM THAT WAY! HE’S BRIAN KINNEY, FOR FUCK SAKE!!”

Brian snapped out of his shock-induced trance and covered his face with his hands.

“Is this really happening?” he asked. “Because if not, someone needs to wake me from a very _very_ bad dream . . .”

“Nope, I’m afraid it’s real,” Emmett said. “You three go on; I’ll take care of Tonto.”

They started walking, but every few feet, Brian stopped. He was clearly afraid the guy’s taunt wouldn’t be the last of the night. Part of Justin cheered – he wanted to go home or at least to the diner – but a bigger part knew that Brian had to face things head-on and chin-up. Brian had been dealing with his pregnancy frankly and honestly from the moment he’d decided to keep the babies. Everything about him, from his gait to his posture to the way he looked people right in the eyes, said “deal with it or fuck off.”

But this had been different. It’d been a complete stranger who was immune to the Brian Kinney treatment. Brian was not used to strangers giving him shit – shunned would-be tricks, cast-offs and competitors, yes, but not random guys just walking down the sidewalk. Justin was just about to give Brian a pep talk when Ted stepped in. Thank God. Brian did not respond well to Justin’s pep talks; he always reminded Justin that his misery was due entirely to Justin’s dick and its condom-ruining attributes.

“Hey,” Ted said when Brian stopped for the third time. “You don’t have to do this, but if you asked my advice . . .”

“. . . which I didn’t,” Brian said with a scowl.

“ . . . I’d say ‘fuck ‘em all.’ I doubt that ‘bro’-guy would have the balls to do what you’re doing.”

“Easy for you to say; you’re not the one who looks like he swallowed a football for dinner. Also, they’ve been kicking me in the bladder all evening . . .”

It was Justin’s turn to freeze. Brian and Ted stopped and looked back at him.

“What?” Brian snapped. “I’m going, okay? Get off my back.”

“No,” Justin all but whispered. “That’s not it . . . you just said the babies have been kicking you in the bladder . . .”

“Yeah, and it’s currently my guess that the little fuckers are going to be rugby players . . .”

“Brian! They’re kicking you and you haven’t told me? What the hell? That’s _huge_! I didn’t know you’d felt them move!”

Brian tried to make his answering shrug appear dismissive, but the look of pride and amusement gave him away. Justin approached him slowly as though the twins were aliens and not little avocado-sized human beings.

“Can I touch?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Brian replied. “But I doubt you’ll feel anything. I haven’t been able to. I was being a drama queen. They’re not actually kicking me; they’re just kind of moving around. Hopefully they’re not kicking each other . . .”

“Did you know that baby sharks fight each other to the death while they’re still in utero?” Emmett asked breathlessly. He had a very indignant Michael in tow. “It’s true. These fishermen caught a pregnant shark and cut her open. There was the little baby shark surrounded by bits and pieces of its siblings.”

“Cool,” Ted said.

“Not ‘cool,’” Michael grumbled. “Brian’s babies are not eating each other.”

Justin turned so that no one could see his expression and rolled his eyes. Michael always referred to the twins as “Brian’s babies” or “Brian’s twins.” Not once had Michael even acknowledged that Justin had been involved. As far as Michael was concerned, Brian had undergone an immaculate conception. Hell, Michael probably even imagined that somehow _he_ , himself, was the father. Justin wouldn’t be surprised; Michael had spent half his life pining for a role in Brian’s life that he would _never_ fill. Why not add the role of the twins’ baby-daddy? Justin would’ve loved to say something, but he knew he shouldn’t. Brian, as usual, was basking in Michael’s worshipful attention like a seal in the sun, which, in turn, made Michael blissfully happy. It was a weird, years-old symbiotic relationship – kind of like an anemone and a clown fish: The anemone provides protection and safety to the clownfish, and the clownfish in turn grooms the anemone and eats noxious parasites. (And, God knows, Michael probably considered him, Justin, to be one such parasite – actually probably the most noxious of them all.) 

Justin placed his hand on Brian’s belly under his shirt, and felt a jolt of arousal course through him. Sometimes he wondered if his sexual response to Brian’s baby bump was normal – after all, there were _babies_ in there! Was he some kind of pedophile? When he’d once asked Brian about it, Brian had laughed and called him a silly twat . . . and then fucked his brains out.

“Can you feel anything?” Brian asked.

“No,” Justin replied disappointedly.

“I told you; they’re just moving around, probably stretching. I imagine it’s more claustrophobic in there than flying coach on Continental.”

Justin laughed and kissed him.

“So, are we going to Babylon or not?” Emmett asked. “It’s fine with me if we’re not. We could just go to Woody’s or the diner.” Emmett made the suggestions because both locations had tables where Brian could sit and hide his belly from curious eyes.

“Nope,” Brian said. “We’re going to Babylon. I feel like dancing.”

Emmett clapped excitedly. “I was _hoping_ you’d say that. I need a little of the ol’ thumpa-thumpa.”

Michael scrunched up his face in an I-don’t-know-I’m-worried-about-Brian look.

“C’mon, Mikey,” Brian said, throwing his arm over Michael’s shoulders. “Don’t worry – I’ll let you cut in for a song or two.”

Michael glowered at a lamppost and then at a mailbox – in fact he glowered at everyone and everything except Brian, of course. “I’m counting on it being more than just two,” he grumbled. “You and . . . _him_ . . .” He gestured with his chin in Justin’s direction “. . . live together. You don’t have to dance together too. It used to me and you who danced.”

“We’ll let you dance only if you cheer-up, sourpuss,” Emmett said.

“And stop peeing on Brian’s leg,” Ted added.

Justin couldn’t help it – he cracked up and then trotted ahead of them so he wouldn’t get an ALL!CAPS lecture from Michael. Jesus, Michael was hilarious. Clearly, Brian agreed because he was smiling and laughing and giving Michael a sloppy kiss on the forehead. Justin didn’t care; whatever made Brian laugh was fine with him.

It was a Friday night, and Babylon was packed. The night’s go-go boy theme was “farmhands ready for a roll in the hay.” There were a lot overalls and cowboy hats and straw all over the place.

“Shit,” Brian said, turning to Justin. “Are you going to have allergy problems?”

Justin bent over and picked up a piece of straw. “”No, it’s not hay. Plus it’s probably a million years old. Doesn’t matter, though. I brought my inhaler.”

“And hopefully some of your super-size-me condoms too,” Brian purred in his ear. “I want to watch you fuck a guy in the backroom.”

Justin made a face. He wasn’t really in the mood, but if it was a choice between him fucking someone or Brian doing it, Justin wanted it to be the former.

They made their way to the bar, and Justin was relieved to see that Brian didn’t even glance at the bottles on display behind the bartender. He ordered a diet Coke for himself, beers for Justin, Ted and Michael, and an extravagant looking cocktail for Emmett.

At first Brian started out with his back to the dance floor and his belly tucked under the bar top. It’d been awhile since they’d been out anywhere other than the diner or the mini-golf range where they’d taken Gus the weekend before. Since they’d last been to Babylon, Brian’s belly had pretty much doubled in size, and he was clearly embarrassed, even though Justin was sure he didn’t want to be and was fighting against it.

Then gradually, after about an hour, Brian started turning around until he was in his bar-counter pose – back against the bar, hips thrust forward slightly, and his foot propped up behind him.

 _Fuck_ , he looked hot!

He was dressed all in black. The sleeves of his untucked, shimmery, silk shirt were rolled up pass his elbows and his black jeans were skin-tight (thank you, Belly Band!). His eyes roamed around the room like they always did – noticed everything either with interest or disdain.

“Looking good,” Emmett said, giving Brian the once over.

Michael moved to stand in front of Brian, blocking any view of him from the dance floor. His look was fierce and grim as though he was on a battlefield. People started giving him wary glances.

“Jesus Christ, Mikey,” Brian said. “You’re fucking up my debut. Move over.”

“Your debut?” Michael said, sounding alarmed.

“Yeah, well, not just _my debut_. It’s the twins’ too. This is the first time they’re noticeable even in a mostly dark room. See?” Brian thrust his hips forward even more, making his belly look positively huge.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ted said anxiously. “I doubt you have a particularly friendly audience here. You’ve sneered and laughed mockingly at about three-quarters of the people here at one time or another.”

Brian shrugged. “Fuck ‘em.” He turned to the bartender. “Another Coke, and less ice this time. That’s the cheapest trick in the book, and it’s only pop, for Christ sake, not Chivas Regal. You’re already making ninety-nine cents to every dollar.”

The bartender handed Brian another Coke, and when Brian turned away, he rolled his eyes behind Brian’s back and mouthed “asshole.” Justin cringed inside. He often wondered: did Brian act like a jerk on-purpose? Or had he just been a jerk for so long that he didn’t even notice anymore? Was he aware of how much he annoyed people? Justin hoped fervently that this aspect of Brian would change along with all the other changes. He didn’t want the twins going through life having to apologize for their dick of a father.

“What about him?” Brian asked, nodding in the direction of a hot guy neither of them had seen before. He was more Brian’s type than Justin’s

“Too beefy,” he said.

“What about him?”

“He looks like the kind of guy who waxes his balls.”

Brian laughed. “Not everyone has pubes as aesthetically pleasing as mine.”

“Not everyone has pubes,” Emmett cut in. “What’s with the hairless look? I like my men to look and feel and smell like men, not Ken dolls.”

Brian tapped Emmett’s glass in agreement.

“Oh shit,” Michael hissed. “Here comes Sapperstein.” He tried to huddle in front of Brian again.

“Mikey,” Brian said, sounding amused. “The Sap isn’t an evil sorcerer, and I am not a damsel in distress.”

Ted laughed. “Thanks, Bri. Now I’ll never get that image out of my mind.”

Brian rolled his eyes at him and opened his mouth, probably to say something mean and cutting, when they heard a pleased chuckle.

“Well, well, well, Kinney,” the Sap said. “No wonder we haven’t seen HRH around for a while. You’ve developed quite a gut there.”

Brian turned a chagrined bright red, and Michael started hopping around like a lit firecracker on the Fourth of July. Justin merely took a deep breath and held it.

“Jesus,” the Sap continued. “You must be putting away the beer twenty-four seven. It takes years for us mere mortals to achieve a beer belly like that.”

Justin could feel Brian start to shake beside him, and he was just about ready to jump in when Brian’s expression went from looking like the hunted to the hunter.

“I always find it touching when you notice I’ve been away for a few days, Sap. But then again your revenue’s probably cut in half due to my absence, and a brilliant business man like you surely has a thumb on his books . . . or should I say, a dick in his boys.”

Brian smirked, but Justin suddenly wanted to bolt for the bathroom.

“Ha ha,” Sapperstein replied. “I miss your lame insults about as much as I miss your fucking attitude. Now, c’mon, Kinney, take your shirt off and go do your thang on the dance floor.”

“I never take my shirt off,” Brian said. “Never have never will unless you charge for it at the door and give me ninety percent of the resulting profit. And as for ‘shaking my thang,’ as you so eloquently put it, I may dance later. It’ll depend . . .”

“On what? Whether you’re drunk enough to make a fool out of yourself?”

“No,” Brian said smoothly. “It’ll depend on whether these two . . .” he paused to place his hand on his belly “. . . stop kicking around my gall bladder like a soccer ball. You see, they just started moving about three days ago, and I’m still getting used to the sensation. I find it somewhat distracting, and I wouldn’t want to mess up my dance steps.”

The Sap burst out laughing. “Brilliant, Kinney,” he said. “Not bad. When are you going to start growing tits?”

Brian maintained his completely sober, earnest expression. “Actually, I already have tits, but they’re mostly muscle, so yeah, they’re getting a bit bigger, right, Sunshine?” He pretended to whisper in Sapperstein’s ear even though everyone could hear him. “Sucking my tits gets Justin horny as hell.”

“Jesus, Kinney,” the Sap said, drying his eyes. “That’s worth a free drink. Beam or beer?”

“Neither,” Brian replied holding up his glass of Coke. “I’m not drinking while I’m pregnant, and not while I’m nursing either. But you can buy me another glass of pop and my friends here shots of Tequila.”

This time, the Sap paused for a moment . . . Kinney on the wagon?? When could they expect the locusts? But then he laughed again. “Why the fuck not?” He signaled to the bartender for the shots and Brian’s Coke. “By the way, I’m sure you can convince some fine, upstanding patron with a pregnancy fetish to give your baby bump a little lovin’. You never know; there are weirder things. ‘Night, Kinney, sidekicks.” He wandered off still chuckling.

“Did you hear that, Sunshine,” Brian said. “He just called you weird.”

“Oh my God!” Emmett shrieked, clapping and jumping up and down. “That was _brilliant_!”

Ted chuckled. “Yeah, that was amusing, alright. Truth is definitely stranger than fiction in your case, Bri.”

Brian sipped his Coke and shrugged. “Not my fault he doesn’t believe me. Asshole. I hope you washed his spit off your cock, Sunshine. ‘Coz the thought of backwashing the Sap’s sap makes me want to heave.”

“Jesus, Brian,” Michael tittered. “Why do you always have to be so crass?”

“What?” Brian replied with feigned outrage. “I’m not being crass, I’m just stating a preference – the preference being that I don’t want sloppy seconds even if it’s the father of my babies I’m talking about.”

Brian probably could say something so crass that it would melt the steel platform above them, and it would distress Michael less than Brian’s reference to Justin’s role in impregnating him.

Speaking of paternity . . .

“Brian, I’m not trying to be a jerk,” Michael said tentatively. “But have you considered the possibility that someone other than Justin might be the father . . .”

Brian turned to look at him. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t fuck me,” he drawled. “I’d probably remember if you had . . . but then maybe not. How big is your dick again?”

“ _Ouch_ ,” Emmett said. “Brian.”

Brian held up his hands in a silencing gesture. “All I am saying is that nobody’s fucked my ass since I was nineteen, except Sunshine here. Any insinuation to the contrary is going to get the tip of my boot up theirs. I may be pregnant, but I _don’t_ bottom.”

“Right, because Justin came in a turkey baster and squirted it up your ass like a couple of lesbians,” Ted said.

“Does a come-filled turkey baster, due to its function, become a de facto dick?” Emmett asked. “Because if it does, you got fucked by a turkey, Brian.”

Everyone, even Michael, cracked up.

“Okay, no more drinks for you guys,” Brian said. “C’mon, Mikey, let’s dance.”

Michael beamed. He had a very short memory when it came to Brian’s insults. It was clearly a crucial survival mechanism for anyone who wanted to be Brian’s best friend.

Ted shook his head. “God, he can be such a dick sometimes.”

Emmett frowned. “But imagine if we woke up one day to find he was no longer a dick? I’d find that alarming. Brian’s dickishness is like a guiding star in my life. I’d be lost without it.”

Justin laughed. “I’m off to the loo,” he said.

Miraculously, there was a free stall, and Justin snagged it. He hated using the urinals. Everyone stared at his dick and start pestering him with propositions. It was irritating. Sometimes a guy just wants to pee without having people trying to hump his leg.

He’d just gotten his jeans open when he heard a voice right outside his stall door.

“Hey there, little boy. Want some company?”

Justin rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Get in here,” he said and opened the door so Brian could squeeze in.

“Jesus, I have to piss,” Brian said. “I think my bladder’s half the size it should be. And don’t you dare piss on my boots.”

“I haven’t had _that_ much to drink,” Justin replied. “Christ, you really _did_ have to pee!”

“You would too if you’d drunk a gallon of pop.”

They were just zipping themselves up when Justin heard it:

“Fuck, have you seen Kinney?” a voice said. “What the hell happened to him? He’s turned into a fucking whale!”

“Thanks for the confirmation,” another voice said. “I thought I’d done too much E and was hallucinating.”

“Fucking Karma is what it is,” said a third voice. “The guy's a fucking _asshole_.”

Someone laughed. “Guess you hit on him and he looked at you like you’re a piece of wet garbage.”

“No, he fucked me. Or rather I blew him.”

“Good thing you took advantage of the opportunity. Now, I bet you couldn’t even _find_ his dick.”

“You think it’s ‘roids?”

“Steroids give you muscle. Kinney’s sporting fat . . .”

“And a hell of a lot of it.”

“Did you see him on the dance floor? Jesus, I was afraid to get too close and get hit by his gut.”

“Serves him right. I hope he drops dead of a fucking heart attack.”

“Maybe it’s gas. That stick up his ass won’t let it escape.”

“All I know is that the son of a bitch thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread . . .”

“Dude, has he fucked you? He’s got an amazing cock, it’s like magic or something. I came five fucking times in one night. He’s a Fuck Genius.”

“Well, all I can say is that those days are over and done with. With a gut like that, there’s no way he can get full penetration.”

“God really does exist.”

“You guys are assholes. It’s tragic is what it is. He may be the biggest dick in Pennsylvania, but he was fucking _beautiful_. That face, that body. Jesus, he was a work of art. Now he’s a fatso. Yes, he deserves if, but it’s like someone knocking over the statue of David. We’re the ones who end up suffering. I used to come here just to watch him. Now he looks like shit. It sucks.”

“Whatever. So Kinney’s off the market. Just means more for the rest of us.”

“Maybe he’ll be a mark-down. If he’s on his hands and knees you won’t be able to see his gut and lose your hard-on.”

“Brian Kinney on his hands and knees! What would I give to see _that_ . . . although not now. Ugh! It’d be like fucking Jabba the Hutt.”

“Thanks a lot for that image. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.”

“Kinney’s gonna _have_ to bottom now, or he’s not gonna get anything. Hope that kid of his dumps his fat ass. He’s too hot to stoop to being a charity fuck for anyone – even Kinney.”

“ _Especially_ , Kinney.”

And then they were gone, laughing all the way through the door.

Justin had been staring at his feet the whole fucking _endless_ eternity of time. He knew he had to look at Brian, but he couldn’t.

They stood there frozen and silent for at least five minutes if not longer. Neither of them even moved a muscle. Finally Justin cleared his throat.

“You know that trip to New York you’ve been badgering me about?” he asked very quietly, his voice as soft and gentle and kind as he could make it. “I think we should go this weekend.”

Brian didn’t say anything for the longest time.

“Yeah,” he said, the words scratchy. “I’d like that.”

Very slowly, Justin raised his head and sought out Brian’s eyes – terrified of what he might find there.

Brian’s worst nightmare had just come to pass.

Brian didn’t meet his eyes. He seemed to be staring at the piece of dried chewing gum stuck to the wall.

“How about we go home?” Justin said, placing his hand on the middle of Brian’s chest.

Brian nodded.

“I’m going to open the door now, okay?”

Brian nodded.

“And then were just going to leave. We can call the others when we get home.”

Brian nodded.

Justin opened the door slowly. Thankfully, they were alone. He took Brian’s hand and led him back outside. He’d expected Brian would pull away, but he didn’t. In fact, his fingers tightened.

“We walked,” Justin said when they were on the sidewalk. “Do you want to catch a cab?”

Brian shook his head.

They walked in silence, hand-in-hand. When they got back to the loft, they showered and went to bed. Brian still hadn’t said a word. He turned his back when they got under the duvet but melted into Justin’s arms when Justin spooned him. After a while, Justin slowly moved his arms from Brian’s waist to his belly, praying that Brian wouldn’t stop him.

He didn’t.

Justin spread his fingers apart, trying to cover as much of the babies’ bump as he could. He kissed Brian’s shoulders and then closed his eyes.

And then he felt it.

Movement. Movement in Brian’s belly. It was so small and light that Justin thought he’d dreamed it, but then it happened again.

“Feel that?” Brian whispered.

“Yeah,” Justin whispered in reply. It was like the babies would be startled into stillness if they spoke too loudly.

They lay like that for hours, both of them dozing on and off, as the babies moved around.

“They’re definitely your children,” Justin said as dawn started to glow through the windows’ gauzy curtains. “They’re night owls.”

Brian huffed out a tiny, little laugh.

“Next week they’re going to be the size of onions,” he said. “Bernstein told me that at some point we’ll be able to see little hand and foot prints.”

Justin kissed his shoulders. He wanted so much to tell Brian how amazing and brave and beautiful he is and how proud Justin felt to be with him. But he knew he couldn’t. In fact, he knew they’d never even discuss what they’d overheard. But it didn’t feel like a lack of communication; in fact it felt like the exact opposite. It felt like the kind of communication that thrums like a heartbeat, that doesn’t need words because it transcends them.

“They’re settling down a bit,” Brian said. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. . . Stay with me, okay?”

“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Justin replied.

Brian snorted. “You’re such a sap,” he said.

He was asleep within five minutes.

 

In the end, Brian had to call Cynthia on Monday and tell her that he was sick and couldn’t come to the office.

“You are such a fibber!” Justin said when Brian hung up his phone.

“Couldn’t be helped,” Brian said dismissively. “We’ve still got Bergdorf and Goodman. Did you actually think I was going to leave New York without stopping there? Sometimes I fear that my babies’ daddy is a cretin.”

“I have a great idea,” Justin said as they climbed into the limo Brian had rented for the weekend.

“Do tell,” Brian said indulgently.

“We are going to have everyone over to the loft for sparkling grape juice and hors d’oeuvres, and you’re going to put on a fashion show.”

Brian didn’t answer right away. Justin was curious how he'd eventually respond. If this was pre-pregnancy, Brian would’ve been all over it. He loved to show off his new clothes . . . but now?

“Will they be jealous?” Brian asked.

“They will _definitely_ be jealous.”

“Will they drool over the priceless fabrics?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Will they admire the way that everything by Armani makes me look like a young god?”

“You can count on it.”

“Will they oh-and-ah over the miraculous tailoring that takes weeks off my bump?”

“They will . . . and actually I mean that with complete sincerity. Those people can work magic!”

Brian beamed. Yes, of course, Justin was biased, but he thought Brian looked stunning. The spa afternoon with its facials and skin-brightening sea-salt massages made his skin glow. His haircut was the sexiest he’d ever had, and his new clothes . . . holy shit! Brian had spent ten thousand dollars, but it was worth every penny to watch him try on a suit and admire himself approvingly from every angle. And, of course, he’d bought club clothes.

“Fuck the fuckers,” Brian had said while trying on the zillionth leather jacket. “They only _wish_ they could kiss my new, hideous, outie belly button, and even if I let them, the twins would probably give them a good, sound kick in the nose. They aren’t their daddies’ babies for nothing. Bastards. I’m going to go to Babylon until I’m ready to pop. Shit, it sucks that I don’t have a snatch; if I did I could give birth on the dance floor.”

He laughed, and then froze. Justin looked at him with alarm.

“Did I just say it sucks that I don’t have a snatch??”

Justin grinned. “Yes, I believe that is what I heard you say.”

Brian shook his head. “These hormones,” he said. “What’ll it be next? A craving for floral upholstery and a Subaru? Where will it end?”

“Hopefully short of lesbian night at Babylon.”

Brian shuddered. When they arrived at Bergdorf and Goodman, the driver came around and opened their doors. Brian had to struggle a little bit to get out, and Justin held out his hand as though he were assisting a starlet. Brian slapped it away with a scowl, and Justin gave him one of his faux-innocent grins. 

Luckily, for Justin, Brian did have his limits. When his feet and back got sore, they made their way to the café where Brian bored the living shit out of him by analyzing at length the influence of the new designers at Bontoni on the world of men’s footwear. Unfortunately, Justin’s eyes must’ve glazed over because Brian assumed a malicious air and switched to the subjects of hemorrhoids, stretch marks, heartburn, swollen ankles, gas, frequent urination, his much-reviled outie belly-button, and the also much-reviled back acne.

“Why would pregnancy give someone pimples?” Brian pissed and moaned. “That’s just stupid. Hey, flag down the waiter; I want another one of those flakey pastry thingamajiggies with the raspberry jam inside.” 

By Monday night, our intrepid shoppers had returned to the Siberian hinterland that is Pittsburgh. Justin unpacked all their purchases and hung them up while Brian lay on his back in the middle of the bed looking not unlike a very tired, very handsome, but alas hopelessly beached, walrus.

Justin stood regarding him as he wheezed and grumbled . . . and got so incredably turned-on he thought he might spontaneously explode with lust. Brian turned to look at him with mischief in his eyes.

“Careful there. You’re gonna wreck the zipper of your new jeans. God, you’re a pervert. The babies are doing the tango, and you want to fuck?”

Justin felt his eyes roll back ever so slightly. Brian was right. He really was a pervert. Brian smirked at him; Justin’s desire was obviously written all over his face . . . and elsewhere.

“Alright, get over here,” Brian said, sitting up to undress which was not exactly the sexy display it used to be. It involved some rolling and squirming and grunted obscenities.

They didn’t discuss it – it just came naturally. Brian got on his knees and forearms and canted his ass in the air. Justin could tell he was dying to be fucked; he didn’t usually cant his ass like that until he was ready to come. It was an unambiguous invitation that Justin’s body immediately responded to as pre-come, almost in the volume of ejaculate, flowed out of him. When Brian’s hole pulsed open in an even more unambiguous invitation, the pre-come gushed again.

 _Oh, God!_ Had he ever wanted Brian so much before?

“Condom?” Justin gasped. They’d asked Dr. Bernstein if they had to keep using them, and he’d told him he’d actually prefer it if they didn’t because of uncertainty surrounding the safety of the lube for the babies.

“Fuck that,” Brian gasped in reply. “Stick it in me already!”

Justin laughed as he lined up the head of his cock with Brian’s opening and pushed in all the way with a grateful moan. There was no question of needing any kind of lubricant; Justin was still leaking pre-come all over the place.

“Fuck,” Brian groaned. “What’s up with the primer? My ass is as squishy as though you squirted a whole tube of K-Y up there.”

“Can’t . . . help . . . it,” Justin panted as he latched onto the rhythm he wanted. “You . . . are . . . so . . . fucking . . . hot!”

Brian purred happily like a giant, wanton cat on a sunny windowsill. While he was distracted, Justin reached beneath Brian and splayed his hand on Brian’s belly. The babies were indeed dancing the tango! The realization (a realization that would never stop feeling like an epiphany) that he’d made those little moving creatures inside Brian’s body shoved him hard over the edge.

“Holy shit!” he gasped. “I wasn’t ready for that!”

Brian laughed. “Keep going,” he said. “I bet you can have another one. Don’t think about it too hard and don’t lose your rhythm. Just find a grove and go with it.”

Brian was right; Justin did come again, and the second time felt even stronger than the first.

“ _God_ ,” he moaned, his body shuddering all over. “I think I can have another.”

Brian laughed breathlessly. “I wouldn’t doubt it – you were horny as hell. But one’s all I have in me tonight . . .”

“Shit,” Justin said. “I forgot about you! I’m so sorry . . .”

“No need to fret, young grasshopper,” Brian said. “I came. All over my fucking duvet, I might add.”

Justin laughed and slowly pulled out. Was it the absence of a condom? Was it the eroticism of Brian’s pregnancy? Who cared. All Justin knew was that he’d give Brian a long enough break that he wouldn’t be pissed when Justin woke him for another round.


	18. The List and the Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody - sometimes even Justin himself - thinks they know all there is to know about Brian. They're wrong.

They were all gathered at Deb’s when Brian rose (slightly less gracefully than usual) from his favorite armchair and cleared his throat to get the assembled crowd’s attention.

“Okay,” he said. “As you all know, I’m not thrilled with all the baby-crap buying you’ve started to do, but apparently _some_ of you *cough Deb cough* can’t be deterred. So I’m revoking my ban, BUT there are still rules that must be obeyed. Here is the list of Things That Will Not Be Allowed In My Place Of Dwelling. To make things easier – _and_ to insure you guys don’t have an ‘opps, I forgot’ moment, Justin has created a handout for you to keep in your purses and wallets so that it can be removed at the cash register and consulted. Justin has even provided you with some pretty hilarious little drawings to assist memorization. Non-compliance with this list WILL result in me shoving whatever unapproved shit you bought me up your ass and sending you back to the store where hopefully they’ll give you a refund. If not, tough shit. Don’t claim you weren’t warned. So without further delay, here is the list:

Do not purchase – or even _think_ about purchasing – any of the following items. I don’t give a shit if it’s ‘adorable,’ you will waste your money and test my resolve not to slap you guys upside your heads.

 **Number One:** Anything pink. Period. Deal with it. I don’t care if the twins are girls and are born looking like Barbie. No pink.  
 **Number Two:** Anything in any shade of pastel . . .”

“Christ, Brian,” Mel said. “Is your masculinity so fragile that you can’t handle mint green?”

“Or lavender?” Emmett gasped. “You are a color fascist.”

“Yup,” Brian replied, “and proud of it. Okay, no more interruptions. This is a long list.”

Everyone groaned. Fortunately, they’d eaten already, and Brian’s list didn’t stand between them and their baked ziti. 

“ **Number Three:** Anything involving puppies, kittens, lambs or _anything_ with big, pleading eyes. I hate that. They make me feel guilty. I refuse to feel guilty in my own home for some unknown sin against all things cute and needy.  
 **Number Four:** Anything involving Disney or Pixar.  
 **Number Five:** Anything one might refer to as ‘cute,’ ‘adorable’ or ‘precious.’"

“Brian!” Deb screeched. “There’s no such thing as baby stuff that isn’t cute or adorable! Just being small makes everything cute and adorable! You’re being fucking unreasonable!”

Brian merely shrugged. “Well, if it’s going to be so hard to avoid ‘cute’ and ‘adorable,’ then I suggest you start shopping now.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Lindsay said. “Bri, Deb’s right. All baby things, by their nature, are ‘cute’ and ‘adorable.’ What do you plan to do? Dress the twins in burlap sacks?”

Brian looked at Justin for back-up. Justin winced and shrugged. He’d thought the ‘cute and adorable’ ban was Stalin-esque.

“I think you’re going to have let that one go,” he said.

Brian mumbled and groused, but in the end, he relented.

“Okay, okay,” he said grumpily. “Just don’t call anything ‘cute’ or ‘adorable’ in my presence. I suggest getting together ahead of time to get all the ‘ahhhhh, isn’t that precious’s out of your systems. Sunshine will probably join you. He’s been _dying_ to say the word ‘adorable’ but risks losing access to my ass if he does . . .”

“You’re bottoming?” Michael squeaked. “But, but, but . . .”

“Yes, ‘but, but, but’ indeed,” Emmett said. “What have you got against bottoming, especially considering the fact that you are one?”

“But it’s _Brian_ ,” Michael said. “Brian Kinney doesn’t bottom.”

“You’re right,” Ted said. “Clearly, Brian came in Justin’s ass, and the resulting fertilized egg entered his dick and rolled into wherever it is right now.”

“Ted!” Mel and Lindsay shrieked.

“I don’t think fertilized eggs ‘roll,’” Emmett said. “I think they probably just float in the direction they’re headed.”

Michael looked like a wilting sunflower in September. His world was crumbling around him, and he clearly was at sea, floating further and further away from shore in the grasp of a merciless rip tide.

“Oh my God, Mikey,” Brian said. “Will you put it in a pile so I can get on with the list?

 **Number Six:** Anything with frills or bows or sparkles.  
 **Number Seven:** Anything with polka dots . . .”

“What’s wrong with polka dots?” Deb asked.

“I just don’t like them. They make me think of clowns. Clowns give me the creeps. End of story.

 **Number Eight:** Anything crocheted. I mean it. No afghans.  
 **Number Nine:** Anything that makes a noise that’s going to set my teeth on edge. Rattles and bells are okay, but I will strangle the person who buys anything that involves a human voice, sirens, giggles or the sound of ‘boing.’ This includes CDs of inane kids’ songs. The twins will be raised on club music.”

Justin’s mom sighed and left the room. Brian completely ignored her.

“What about show tunes?” Emmett asked despairingly.

“No show tunes or crooners."

" **Number Ten:** Anything featuring a straight couple.”

“Duh, that’s a no-brainer,” Deb said. 

“ **Number Eleven:** Anything nylon, but leather is okay . . .”

“Oh, good lord,” Mel said rolling her eyes. “Justin, what the hell? Where’s your voice in all of this?”

Justin blushed and winced again. “He’s the one carrying them. I was reminded of that many, many, _many_ times.”

“ **Alright, last one:** Anything plastic. The twins are going to be raised without plastic shit. Wood, fine. Metal, fine . . .”

“ _Metal_?” Deb screeched. “You’re suggesting we buy something _metal_ for a newborn?”

Brian shrugged. “I mean it about plastic. The only plastic shit I currently own are a couple of small appliances, my toothbrush and some sex toys. I prefer glass, especially when it comes to anal beads and sounding rods. You can buy the babies glass shit too. Just as long as it’s not pink.”

Justin watched as one-by-one, everyone rose from their chairs and headed for the door. Even Deb and Vic. It was a solemn, somber procession.

“I forgot to mention dolls!” Brian yelled after them. “No dolls! I hate them; they watch you and it makes my skin crawl! Or shit with peace signs on it! I’m not raising my kids to be fucking hippies!”

“You do realize,” Justin said, “that they’re headed for the diner where they will proceed to bitch about you on a level never before seen.”

Brian shrugged. It was his new favorite gesture – well, that and his patented arched eyebrow.

“Like I told them” he said. “They better start shopping now.”

“You do realize that we can’t avoid plastic entirely. The car seats will be plastic. And probably their highchairs, changing table and stroller.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Brian said. “Now go make yourself useful and see if there’s any ziti left. Bonnie and Clyde are still hungry.”

 

Brian had announced his draconian edicts on a Sunday, but everyone was still outraged on Thursday night when Justin walked into the diner for his red-eye shift.

“Honestly, Sunshine,” Deb said. “Can’t you talk to him? Plead our case? He’s being even more unreasonable than usual. I’ve already bought onesies with the Powerpuff Girls on them – I remember you like them so much – but they violate at least two of Brian’s rules.”

“Let’s see,” Ted said, consulting the handout. “That would be Rule 2 which prohibits pastel colors and Rule 3 which prohibits things with big eyes.”

“And comes close to violating the No Dolls rule,” Daphne interjected. Justin looked at her. What the hell was she doing there?

“Daph. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Commiserating,” she replied.

“Making subversive plans,” Ted added.

“Looking for loopholes,” Mel contributed in her legalese.

“Placing bets as to whether or not Brian’ll stop being a fucking prick after he meets the babies,” Deb said angrily, snapping her gum. 

“Discussing what _exactly_ Brian meant when he banned ‘pastels,’” Emmett chimed in. “In my – and Mel’s – professional opinions, it’s a very loose term subject to numerous, and sometimes contradictory, interpretations.”

“Trying to find _anything_ I’d want to give the babies without provoking Brian in his vulnerable state,” Lindsay said. “Don’t forget, everyone: Brian’s under a lot of stress.”

“Debating whether Captain Astro onesies are suitable for girls if that’s what the twins end up being,” Michael said with a shudder. “What if Brian has _girls_ growing inside him as we speak?”

Deb smacked his head.

“MA! What was that for!?”

“For being a male chauvinist pig!” she screeched. “Why are gay men so fucking sexist?”

“We’re not sexist,” Ted said. “We just think that girls are gross, weak and generally inferior. I don’t know about you guys, but all _I_ really needed to know, I learned in kindergarten.” 

“Oh, I love that book!” Deb said. “And it’s so true.”

Ted looked around. “Damn it,” he said. “Where is Bri when I need him? My jokes are going unsmirked at.”

“Don’t worry,” Justin said. “I caught them. They just weren’t that funny.”

“Mawr!” Emmett said making his fingers into claws. “A bit testy these days? I don’t suppose it’s because you’re trapped in an enclosed space with a pregnant man who happens to be Brian Kinney.”

“Nah,” said Ted shaking his head. “Couldn’t possibly be that.”

“Alright, enough jawing,” Deb said. “Let’s get back to brass tacks.”

“I think it’s ‘ _down_ to brass tacks,’” Michael said, only to receive another smack on the head.

“Don’t correct your mother,” Deb replied to his shrieked “MA!” “Anyone want some lemon bars?”

“You guys,” Justin said, his voice grave and serious. “Brian is particularly adamant about the cute baby animals with big eyes. He breaks out in hives if we’re watching T.V. and there’s an ad for My Little Pony.” He grabbed a picture that Daphne had brought and went behind the counter to get a red marker. “Here’s a visual,” he said and drew a circle around the offending cuteness and bisected it with a diagonal line.

“He must’ve brought home a trick who turned out to be a Furry,” Emmett said with a solemn nod. “That could scar even the toppiest top.”

“What the hell is a ‘Furry,” Deb asked. “A guy who needs laser hair removal for his ass?” She cackled.

“No,” Ted said with a shudder “It’s much _much_ worse than that. Furries are people who like to dress up in animal costumes to have sex . . .”

“Kinky,” Deb said.

“Oh, it gets even worse than that,” Emmett said. “Some are even ‘Baby Furries,’ which means they dress up as baby animals and wear diapers.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Deb screeched. “No wonder Brian was scarred! Poor kid! Alright, we got it, Sunshine. No baby animals with big eyes wearing diapers.”

“You don’t even have to add the ‘diapers’ part,” he said. “If it’s an animal and it has big, innocent-looking eyes, put it back on the shelf and walk away.”

“But what about this ‘no plastic’ business?” Emmett said with a pout. “There goes every single Barbie product including ‘Barbie’s Glamor Camper,’ and I was so looking forward to getting one.’”

“What the fuck is a ‘glamor camper’?” Mel asked.

Ted shuddered. “I’m sure we don’t want to know. Moving on . . . What about a baby blanket made out of unbleached, organic cotton featuring orange giraffes with normal sized eyes?”

Justin quickly went over The Rules in his head.

“Actually,” he said. “I think that might pass muster.”

“Good job, Teddie,” Emmett said, high-fiving him. 

“What about monkeys?” Lindsay asked.

Justin froze. He _hated_ monkeys, but he felt bad about adding yet another banned item to the list.

“Yeah, I guess monkeys would be okay,” he said reluctantly. “But just so long as they aren’t pastel colored and/or have big eyes. You guys, I really can’t emphasize the big-eye thing enough.”

“God, this is ridiculous,” Mel said. “Brian is such a fucking princess . . .”

“Oh that’s right!” Justin interrupted. “You just reminded me. I’m supposed to tell you all that princesses and fairies have been added to the list of prohibited images, although, surprisingly, unicorns are okay as are gnomes. NO Smurfs.”

“Gnomes!” Emmett shrieked. “Gnomes are scary and lack sartorial imagination – it’s always red hats and blue tunics and Renaissance Faire belts with big buckles! I cannot _believe_ Brian is okay with gnomes! Also they garden, which means they have dirt under their fingernails. My bet is Brian has never had dirt under his fingernails in his entire life! The man is ready to fist a trick at the drop of his hat . . . or his pants, I should say. Are you sure he even knows what gnomes are? You should find out. Google them and show him a picture. They’re much _much_ worse than Barbie’s Dream House!”

Everyone cracked up except Emmett who announced that he didn’t see why people were laughing; he was being “dead serious” about the gnomes.

“On that note,” Deb said. “Let’s adjourn this meeting for the time being; Sunshine and I have orders to take and cash registers to run.”

Everyone said good-bye to Justin on their way out, and all of them except Mel patted him on the shoulder in consolation. Mel just rolled her eyes.

“I hope he has girls,” she said. “And I hope one is a lesbian and the other's a bimbo who wants breast implants at the age of ten.” She smiled and winked at him.

“Why, thank you,” Justin said with an answering smile. “I’ll make sure I pass along your sentiments.”

“Oh, please do,” Mel said. “‘Night, sweetie.”

 

When Justin returned to the loft just before midnight, he caught Brian sitting at his desk, scribbling away on one of Justin’s smaller sketch pads. He was so intent on his task that he didn’t notice Justin’s presence, and when Justin said hello, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“DON’T DO THAT!” he yelled and scrambled to hide whatever it was he’d been writing. “Jesus fucking Christ! Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack or do you just not care either way?”

Justin winced and gave him a guilty smile. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but, c’mon, that door is loud enough to wake the dead. It’s virtually impossible to sneak up on someone here.”

Brian brooded and grumbled, but brightened when he saw that Justin had brought him a lemon bar. He stuffed almost all of it in his mouth and started chewing in a very uncouth manner.

“Jesus,” he said, spewing crumbs everywhere. “I hate these fucking things, but apparently Huckleberry Hound and Yogi Bear like them, so what can I do?” He swallowed and licked his fingers clean. Justin would’ve found it disgusting if it didn’t make him so horny. “Now where’s some pickle juice to wash it down with?”

Justin stared at him. “You’re kidding, right?” he said.

Brian grinned at him. “You’ll never know. How was the diner? Were the usual suspects there?”

“Yes, and then some. Daphne and Ben and the girls were there too.”

Brian chuckled an evil-overlord chuckle. “So, they think that through numbers they can break my will? Tell ‘em to bring it on.”

“Em’s pretty freaked about the whole gnome thing,” Justin said. “He said they have dirt under their fingernails.”

Brian froze, and the smile slipped off his face. “Dirt?” he said. “Under their fingernails? Cross them off the list immediately. Jesus, if I’d known that, they would’ve been banned from the start. Ugh! Thank God for Honeycutt.” He shivered. “Did you know that there is more nasty-ass shit hanging out under your fingernails than anywhere else on the human body? That’s why I always keep mine as short as possible, and I’m always trying to get people to wash their fucking hands at Woody’s and Babylon – usually to no avail. Fucking Neanderthals. Forget anal sex; straight men should wonder what’s hiding out under their girlfriends’ two-inch fake nails.” He shuddered again. “They’re sick, sick _sick_ people, who engage in deviant, unhygienic practices. I don’t want them to ever come near the twins.”

Justin laughed. “You do realize that it’s more than likely that the twins will be straight themselves.”

Brian waved him away as if he’d just spoken utter, unfounded gibberish. “I don’t want to discuss it. Go take a shower so you don’t smell like French fries and maybe I’ll let you blow me before I topple over from exhaustion.”

Justin grinned at him and bent down to kiss him nice and sloppily. Brian moaned into it, but when Justin pulled away, he scrunched up his face and feigned disgust.

“You taste like a deep fryer, and not in a good way,” he said, waving his hand in a shooing manner.

Justin laughed light-heartedly as he bounded up the stairs, pulling off his t-shirt and shucking off his pants on the way. He was just about to get in the shower when he realized they were out of soap. Brian had bought some, but it was still in the bag on the kitchen island. Justin was just about to run down and grab it, when he noticed Brian . . .

. . . he was writing intently on the pad again, and while Justin watched, he pulled the page free, folded it and stuffed it in the desk drawer. When he stood up and stretched, Justin tip-toed back to the bathroom.

“Hey,” he yelled. “Bring the soap up!”

He checked the water temperature and got in the shower. What was Brian writing? Generally speaking, Brian didn’t write stuff. He even typed grocery and to-do lists. It was weird that he was writing, and it was even weirder that he was obviously trying to hide whatever it was he’d written. Justin wanted to ask him about it, but something told him Brian would not welcome the conversation.

Suddenly he felt Brian wrap his arms around him and pull him back against his chest. The baby bump was currently large enough that it stuck out exactly as far as Brian’s erect cock. They hadn’t discussed the situation or any ramifications it might have, but they both knew Brian wasn’t going to be doing any more topping for the foreseeable future. Justin wondered whether that freaked Brian out, but he, himself, didn’t need to talk about it. If Brian did, then he’d let Brian bring it up. So far Brian hadn’t, and he didn’t seem to be particularly distressed about it. It was just one of the many ways that Brian was taking his pregnancy in-stride. It was really quite amazing when Justin stopped to consider all the ways Brian was surrendering his pride for the sake of the babies. God, what had he been thinking when he’d thought Brian was going to be a shitty father?! The babies hadn’t even been in the world for six months, but Brian had already done more for them than _both_ his and Brian’s fathers had done for the two of them during their entire childhoods!

Which wasn’t to say that things were smooth sailing. They’d had a real scare earlier in the week when Brian fainted after cutting himself chopping vegetables. The cut was shallow, but it bled a lot. One moment Brian was swearing loudly and washing his finger in the sink, and the next, he slumped to the floor unconscious. Justin had called Dr. Bernstein, and rather than having Justin call 911, he came to the loft himself. By then Brian was awake and sitting on a barstool. He was _not_ happy to see the good doctor and later reamed Justin out for calling him. Justin didn’t give a shit. There was no way that Brian was going to faint, and he, Justin, was going to sit around twiddling his thumbs. He’d never seen Brian faint before, and Brian claimed that he never had, so obviously it was related to the pregnancy in some way or another.

Dr. Bernstein did as much of an evaluation as he could with the instruments he’d brought. The babies’ heartbeats were fine, and they’d started their normal nightly tango, but Brian’s own heartbeat was irregular, a problem Brian claimed he’d never experienced before (which Dr. Bernstein said he highly doubted given how intoxicated Brian used to get – he said that Brian just hadn’t noticed it). Dr. Bernstein didn’t seem too alarmed; he said that heart palpitations are not uncommon during pregnancy, but then Brian reminded him that this wasn’t just a normal, run-of-the-mill pregnancy. Dr. Bernstein told Brian to go to bed and then come to the clinic in the morning. But then later that same night, when Brian got up to use the bathroom, he fainted again. This time Justin _did_ call 911. Fortunately the ER doctor was among the doctors who’d treated Brian before, so there was no need to explain the pregnancy business. Dr. Bernstein showed up looking contrite and admitted to Justin that perhaps he’d made the wrong call. He was obviously upset, but Justin had not felt in a forgiving mood and walked away.

In the end, nobody could figure out what’d happened and why, which did _not_ make Brian and Justin happy. The only thing they were told was to come to the hospital if Brian fainted again. Nobody was saying the words “cardiac arrest,” but Justin thought he could hear them behind every bit of advice as though someone was whispering them in his ear. On the way home in the cab, neither of them said anything, but when Justin took Brian’s hand, Brian squeezed it so hard it felt like he might break Justin’s fingers. He was terrified, and it hurt so much not to be able to comfort him without resorting to platitudes, which Brian hated. _If all you can say is platitudes_ , he always said, _then shut the fuck up_. All Justin could do that night was hold Brian until he fell into an exhausted sleep.

The thing they _did_ discuss – and at length – was whether to tell anyone. In the end they both agreed that they wouldn’t. More fussing and hovering was not going to help.

Brian hadn’t had heart palpitations since, but it had scared the shit out of them.

“Stop thinking,” Brian whispered in his ear as he shampooed Justin’s hair. “Thinking is not conducive to giving me the best orgasm you possibly can.” Justin smiled and turned so he could kiss Brain’s mouth, suds be damned.

Justin put everything he had into sucking Brian’s cock, starting slowly and lovingly, worshipping every perfect inch, and then gradually increasing speed and pressure until Brian tangled his fingers in Justin’s hair, arched his back, and came with a deep, satisfied grunt. Five minutes later, he was dead to the world, wheezing and snoring, both hands resting on his belly.

But Justin didn’t feel tired, and the longer he lay there, the more he worried until he felt like he was going to scream. Finally, he accepted he was not going to fall asleep and went down to the kitchen to eat their left-over curry. He was staring ahead and chewing morosely when suddenly he remembered catching Brian writing and the way Brian had blushed and hid whatever it’d been in the desk drawer.

Justin knew he shouldn’t do it, and he even knew he might not want to, but he was curious and a little afraid. He _had_ to know what Brian had been writing. Was it a will? A letter to his mother? He went to the desk, eased open the drawer and looked around for a folded piece of paper, but he didn’t find just one – he found three. His hands were shaking as he unfolded one and started to read. They were letters. The first was dated the day after Brian had fainted:

 _Hi_ its simple greeting read. _I’d say ‘dear so-and-so and so-and-so’ but you don’t have names yet. I’ve come up with some, but I’ll have to run them by daddy first. Also, I don’t even know if you’re boys or girls or a boy and a girl. I suppose I could come up with ‘genderless names’ but screw that. If you’re boys, you’re going to have boys’ names, and if you’re girls, you’re going to have girls’ names. I don’t see the point of being all wishy-washy about it. Anyway, for now I shall christen thee Blobs One and Two because that’s what you look like right now. Don’t take it the wrong way – you may be blobs on a screen right now, but you’re _my_ babies and you always will be. Always. Even though, I’m not there with you, I’m still hanging out in your world. Heck, _someone_ has to make sure you’re not doing anything worse than I did at your age, and your daddy’s probably got a lot on his plate with his Big Awesome Career as a Big Awesome Animator or whatever he eventually set his mind on. It’s hard for me to predict right now because your daddy’s a kid himself. He’s only nineteen. When you guys are nineteen, you’ll realize just how young that is._

_I’m writing this letter today because something scary happened to me last night, and it made me realize that I might not be around to see you when you make your grand debut in the world. I thought it’d be pretty lame if you didn’t have something from me, hence these letters, which I promise won’t be sappy. I don’t do sappy, and I have a feeling you guys don’t either . . . well, maybe you are _a little bit_ sappy, after all your daddy is. But his being sappy isn’t a problem; it’s my inability to be sappy that is. So, if you’re sappy than I’m happy. How’s that for a rhyme. I bet you didn’t know your dad was a poet as well as a brilliant ad exec. Anyway, this letter has no point. I’m just kind of thinking in ink. I wouldn’t expect these letters to make much sense, so don’t go looking for any Golden Nuggets Of Wisdom, ‘coz you’re not going to find any. Alright kiddos, I have to get back to work, so I’m signing off until tomorrow._

_Your pathetic but adoring Dad_

Justin was walking around as he read the letter; when he’d finished, he sat down on the couch. He felt strange – like an older version of himself – maybe even as old as Brian was currently – thinking back on the long ago time when his sons or daughters were nothing but beautiful blobs. Blobs One and Two doing the tango in Brian’s belly. Justin closed his eyes and listened to Brian wheezing and snoring in the bedroom. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard or would again. He held the letter against his chest as it slowly sank in – the knowledge that Brian was aware he might die . . . or even believed he probably _would_. Justin wanted to cry, but how do you cry over something that hasn’t happened yet and never might. And how do you cry when you’re standing in the presence of something as awesome as unconditional love?

He swallowed and opened the second letter with shaking hands.

_Hi there, my dearest blobs. Today I’m going to tell you about Annoying Things and how to deal with them. I’ve chosen this topic because many things have annoyed the poo out of me over the course of the day. It started first thing this morning when I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet. Yes, I know you’re laughing – yucking it up at your old man’s expense. I don’t blame you; I would be too. After the toothbrush incident, I realized that the plates and silverware on and with which I’d eaten my breakfast were dirty because your daddy forgot to turn on the dishwasher. As your daddy will surely tell you, I’m (perhaps ironically) a bit of a germaphobe. I’m sure I get it from your “grandmother” Joan. (I don’t need to explain the quotation marks; I’m certain daddy has told you why your real grannie is Deb even though she didn’t give birth to me. In fact, I hope you’ve never even had the displeasure of meeting my birth mother. She’s a real piece of work). Anyway, back to the Annoying Things That Happened To Your Loving Father Today: My drive to work is relatively short and painless, but not this morning. This morning two a-holes had crashed into each other at a busy intersection causing me to sit in my car for almost an hour, and to make matters worse, one or both of you were sitting on my bladder, and I had to pee like a stallion. Thank God I had an empty Gatorade bottle lying around. Don’t tell your daddy that wasn’t Lemon-Lime Thirst Quencher. Ha ha! Just joking. See what you missed? Someone who’d appreciate (and maybe even one-up) your potty mouths. So, let’s see . . . what happened next? Oh, yes, the office network was down. Now you probably live in a world where people attach wires to each other’s giant foreheads with suction-cups and read each other’s minds, but back in the ol’ days, we had computers, which would periodically break down requiring socially-inept people known as “I.T. Personnel” to emerge squinting from their super-secret lair in the basement and putter around at your personal desk for _hours_ , playing with _your_ do-hicky-thingies like the stress-squeezy thing that looks like a man in a business suit, but when you squeeze it, his eyes bug out in a highly comical fashion. (That one’s my favorite; I like to pretend it’s my boss.) Finally, our network got up and running again, but then I realized the I.T. guy had erased some critical files, so I had to call him back. By the time everything got sorted out, it was time for me to go home where I found that the elevator was broken, and I had to haul my pregnant bum up four flights of stairs. Then I walk in the door to find your daddy listening to one of his God-forsakingly-awful CDs while cooking CHICKEN! I’m pretty sure I told him loud and clear last week that chicken makes me want to BARF! Did he listen? No, my dear blobs, he did not. The good news though is that we went to the diner, which serves breakfast 24-7, and I got to eat THREE waffles. So, that sums up my day. Lots of annoying things. Annoying things will happen – and probably already have – in your life. Here’s how to deal with them. Work out, eat ice cream, make really bad puns, and use your middle finger frequently and with flair. Now don’t claim your ol’ man never taught you anything useful._

_Sleep tight, my little blobs._

Only when he finished the second letter did Justin realize tears were running down his cheeks – not sad tears, but grateful tears. He was _so_ grateful he’d found the letters and read them. What if he hadn’t? He’d never know the things about Brian that he did now. He wouldn’t give up that knowledge for anything. It was his now, just as it would be their children’s – even if Brian wasn’t around to make it all more than just ink and paper. When he woke up that morning, Justin had known one Brian. When he’d go to sleep, it would be beside a new Brian. A Brian he was just now learning about, and who he almost didn’t know . . .

He almost didn’t read the third letter, the one he’d interrupted when he came in and startled Brian. It just seemed so _now_ and _real_. He was actually worried he’d learn _too much_ about Brian and realize that he couldn’t live without Brian if he and the “blobs” lost him. It scared the fucking shit out of him because he’d have no choice: he would _have_ to live without Brian because their children needed him to stay with them, to stay in a world without Brian in it. Would he be strong enough? Did it even matter? You can’t ask if you’re strong enough to do something that you _have_ to do. You have to just do it and hope for the best. That’s all you can do. Nothing more, nothing less.

Justin wiped away his tears and unfolded the final, the most recent, letter.

 

_Bonjour, my darling blobs. Today is Thursday, and I am sitting here waiting for your daddy to come back from his job at the diner. It’s very quiet. I look around my home and wonder where you guys are now. I’m sure you’re not here – I can’t imagine a worse place for a family. Are you still in Pittsburgh? Are you even in Pennsylvania? The United States? Maybe you’re in Paris (hence my greeting). I wish I could know right now, but a lot’s going to happen between now and when you read these letters, and most of it will happen because of your daddy. Do you have a stepdad? Do you have stepbrothers and/or sisters? How about a pet? Your daddy will say I didn’t like pets. He’s mostly right, but I’ll tell you guys a secret: I’ve always wanted a tarantula. It’s true. Ever since I was a kid like you guys. I’d name him “Harry” because he’s hairy, get it? Haha! I thought so; you’re smart little blobs. Sure a tarantula can’t play fetch, but it can crawl up your arm and into your hair. Neat, huh? But back to you guys. Do you play sports? Do you like school? Do you talk to each other in weird twin-talk? I hope so, ‘coz that sounds really cool. I wonder what it would’ve been like to have a twin. It’s funny, you’re my blobs, but you’re also each other’s. No one will ever be as important to you guys as you are to each other. You’ll never be alone. Wow! I can’t even imagine what that would be like! I was alone as a kid. It was hard sometimes, and sometimes I wished I had a twin. When I got a little older, I wasn’t so alone anymore because I met your Grannie Deb and Uncle Mikey, who was kind of like a twin in a way. Then everything got even better. I met your Aunt Lindsay and we made your half-brother Gus. I met your Uncle Theodore and your Auntie Em . . . and then I met daddy, and that’s how you guys came to be. Have people told you yet that you’re miracles? It’s true. I still sometimes can’t believe you’re here with me right now doing the tango on my gallbladder. Daddy will tell you it was a little scary, but I was more excited than scared. I couldn’t wait to meet you! I hope I got to see you and hold you. Of course, I can’t know right now, but I’m going to just pretend that I do. I wish so much that I knew right now that there are two of you. If there isn’t, if there’s only one of you, well, I want you to know that you have both a dad and a sibling watching over you and loving you every minute of every day. You’re not alone – you never were, and you never will be. We’re right here with you . . . . ._

Brian hadn’t been able to finish. Would he in the morning? Or would he decide that maybe this particular letter should remain unfinished – and maybe even unopened . . .

Justin stood up and tiptoed to the desk. He opened the drawer and carefully, as though they were made of fragile parchment, put the letters back inside. Then he closed the drawer and stood listening to the father of his children sleeping. Fuck it. Brian might be pissed, but Justin _had_ to wake him up. He had to hold Brian and kiss him, every fucking inch of him, over and over. He had to run his fingers through Brian’s hair and look in his eyes and taste his mouth. He had to hold Brian’s hands and whisper “I love you” against his open palms.

As Justin had predicted, Brian grumbled, but as Justin kissed him and touched him, he slowly unfurled like a warm, sleepy flower. “God, I _love_ you, Brian,” Justin said. “I fucking _love you_.” Brian smiled lazily.

“I love you, too,” he said, softly cupping Justin’s cheek and looking deep into Justin’s eyes. “But don’t you _dare_ read one more fucking letter. They’re not for you.”


	19. Dark Brown Hair and Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No summary for this one - read and see for yourself. And just remember, if it's not in the tags, it won't happen. How's that for cryptic ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the story: I'm a lawyer, so the law stuff all works (now I just need a pregnant man to get fired and I'll litigate the suit myself!) As for the "medical" stuff - all I can say is try not to judge me too harshly. Go with that whole suspended-disbelief thing.
> 
> God, I can't wait for the deluge of comments I'm going to get on this puppy! Bring 'em on :D

“All I can say is that I hope I’ll be the first person you call when they summarily fire your ass.”

Brian smirked at Mel. “Just can’t wait to see me get kicked in the balls, can you? Don’t get too excited; I may make someone with full-spectrum bipolar disorder who’s off his meds look calm and reasonable by comparison, but you will _not_ see me cry. I’ll gouge out my eyes with a serrated grapefruit spoon first. So if that’s what you’re hoping for, you’re going to be sorely fucking disappointed.”

Mel shook her head and waved her hands in a no-no-no gesture. “That’s not it,” she said. “I’m saying I want you to call me because I want to litigate your case – in fact I’m _dying_ to do so. It’ll the pinnacle, crowning-glory of my law career. I’ll even do it pro bono – hell, I’ll even pay you!”

Brian regarded her with a raised eyebrow, and Justin watched the smirk inch into a pleased smile. Brian and Mel couldn’t stand each other, but they nonetheless seemed to respect each other. Brian recognized and approved of her toughness and the way she relished a professional challenge, and she seemed to feel the same way about him, although, if asked, Mel would probably call Brian’s toughness “arrogance, inherited male privilege and the inbred bull-headed intransigence of the Irish.” She’d be right, of course. Even Brian, himself, would agree but only with the caveat that the arrogance part be acknowledged to be hard-won and well-earned. _Arrogance isn’t an innately bad thing_ , Brian liked to say. _It’s only an insult when it’s not based on real achievement. Undeserving arrogance is inexcusable, and the advertising world is full of undeserved arrogance. Fucking pisses me off. It’s a cheap trick like trying to pass off sour grape juice as Merlot_.

It was a late Saturday afternoon at the Lesbian Abode. Brian and Justin had just returned from taking Gus swimming and then to watch the trucks and tractors do their truck-tractory- thing at the site of what would soon be a new police headquarters. It was boring as shit, but it seemed to make Gus’s day – there was all sorts of shrieking and pointing and arm waving. One of the construction guys even let Gus sit on Justin’s lap in the driver’s seat of an enormous bulldozer. Gus nearly swooned with bliss and shrieked “DADDY! LOOK AT ME, DADDY!” while Brian took pictures.

“Jesus Christ,” Brian said later over tea and cookies. “My kid really _is_ going to be straight, isn’t he?”

“You never know. I am sure there are lots of gay men who liked to play with trucks in the sandbox when they were children,” Lindsay said, pretending to look appalled when Brian grabbed five cookies of the plate. “I mean, gay men, like lesbians, aren’t all the same. Emmett liked to play with Easy-Bake ovens. I bet you didn’t, yet both of you are gay.”

Justin looked at Brian. “What toys _did_ you play with when you were a kid?” he asked.

Brian shrugged. “I liked to build shit, you know; I liked Legos and Lincoln logs and model trains and airplanes and stuff like that.”

“See,” Lindsay said. “That’s a traditionally ‘boyish’ thing to do. What about you, Justin?”

Justin blushed. Brian was going to make fun of him. “I don’t remember,” he said.

“Sure you do,” Mel said. “You’re just worried Brian will be an asshole if you say it. Don’t worry; I’ll slap him in the head Deb-style even if he merely smirks.”

Justin laughed, but he was still blushing. Oh well. He took a deep breath. “I liked to play house,” he said. “First I had an actual dollhouse . . .”

“Jesus, your dad must’ve loved _that_ ,” Mel said, and Lindsay elbowed her. “Sorry, sweetie. Go ahead.”

“. . . but after I met Daph we played house in the shed her parents had turned into a playhouse. We’d ‘can’ rotting vegetables and ‘cook’ and clean.” He laughed. “We even had two kids . . . well, obviously not _real_ kids; they were a couple of Daph’s dolls.”

“Oh. My. God,” Brian said with a look of horror on his face. “You were play-acting ‘Straight People!’ No wonder you’re so messed up! That explains everything.”

“Brian,” Lindsay exclaimed. “That’s mean. Justin opened up and told us something he obviously feels embarrassed about in hindsight, and you make fun of him! You really are horrible sometimes.”

Brian shrugged with exasperation. “I can’t help it,” he said. “I’ve always wondered where Justin picked up his ‘Hearth and Home’ fetish, and now I know.” He shivered with distaste.

Mel looked pensive for a moment. “It is kind of sad, isn’t it?” she said. “Kids are indoctrinated at should a young with stereotypical gender roles. It’s not exactly easy being a lesbian when you’re a kid, but tomboys aren’t judged as harshly as ‘sissies’ are. Girls can be boyish, but boys who do anything even remotely ‘feminine’ in nature are taunted and bullied.”

Brian sighed and dropped his head back against the couch so he was looking at the ceiling. Everyone thought he was sick of the conversation and wanted to discuss something else, but then he raised his head again with another deep sigh.

“I was one of those bullies,” he said. “I hated ‘sissies.’ I would’ve made Emmett’s life hell if we’d been in grade school together.”

Everyone regarded him with surprised expressions except Mel.

“I’m not surprised to hear that you were a self-hating gay boy,” she said. “You said Justin’s desire to play house explained everything about him; well your being prejudiced against ‘sissy-boys’ explains a whole hell of a lot about you, Mr. Uber-Manly Uber Man. It also explains your rampant misogyny . . .”

“Okay, okay,” Lindsay interjected. “Let’s move on. Brian, how did Gus do at the pool? Did he finally put his face in the water?”

“Wait!” Justin said. “Actually, I don’t want to talk about something else. I think this conversation’s really important since Brian and I are about to become fulltime parents.” He turned to Brian. “What’ll happen if the twins are ‘sissy-boys’ or ‘girly-girls’?”

Lindsay and Mel visibly braced themselves, but Brian merely cocked his head and thought . . . for a surprisingly long time.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that it’ll be a challenge for me if the twins, no matter their gender, are too ‘girly.’”

“Why would it be such a challenge,” Lindsay asked. “You love and respect me, and I’m very much a girly-girl. Do you think it was Mel who decorated this place?” She made a gesture that encompassed the whole room.

Brian looked at her for a long time. Justin would’ve given anything to know what he was thinking.

“But you’re less of a girly-girl than a WASP . . .”

Everyone cracked up.

“No, I’m serious,” Brian said. “You dress and decorate the way you do more because of your socio-economic background than your gender. I mean, Jesus, look at you! You’re a freak! You’re a pearl-wearing, dyke for Christ sake.”

Lindsay laughed. “Whatever _that_ means,” she said.

“Yeah, Brian,” Mel said. “Don’t go getting too deep on us; you might sprain something.”

He stuck out his tongue at her. It was adorable.

“Listen,” he said after everybody’d stopped giggling and snickering. “I don’t give a shit if the twins like Easy-Bake ovens or model airplanes or tractors or pearls or whatever the fuck. They’ll be mine, and I’ll love them no matter what. So there. The cookies are gone. Go get me some more cookies, Mrs. Cleaver,” he said with a nod in Justin’s direction.

Justin wanted so much to go over and hug Brian, but he knew that if he did, he’d ruin the moment. Lindsay, however, cupped his cheek and turned his head for a chaste, but lingering, kiss.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” she said with tears in her eyes.

Brian scowled, but he didn’t pull away. “You don’t know that,” he said.

“Yeah, I do,” she replied. “I know because you already _are_ one, daddy.”

Justin went to kitchen and was quickly joined by Mel, leaving Brian and Lindsay alone for one of their Peter-and-Wendy Moments. Justin was smiling happily to himself. Mel wasn’t.

“Going out for a smoke,” she muttered. “Feel free to continue the Brian Kinney Love Fest without me.”

 

“So,” Justin said on their way home. “You’re going to tell the people at work that you’re pregnant?” He’d been surprised but impressed at Brian’s announcement, and he’d noticed Mel was too. Maybe it’d washed away the bitterness she’d felt earlier. Justin hoped so.

“Yup,” Brian replied. “Every fucking one of them, and I’m also going to tell ‘em they can blow me if they’ve got a problem with it. Hopefully I’ll get my cock sucked all afternoon.”

“But you think you’re going to get fired or suspended or demoted or something?”

“I don’t _think_ , I _know_.”

Justin frowned. “Then why tell them? Just say you need to take a medical leave of absence or something. They’ve probably already guessed that _something_ is up. Why not tell them you have liver cancer or something and it’s making your abdomen swell.”

“Because,” Brian replied. “I don’t have liver cancer. I’m pregnant.”

“I admire you so much, Brian. You know I do, but maybe you don’t need to go this far this time.”

“I have ‘to go this far this time’ because I want to keep my fucking job, and I want them to give me paid maternity leave.”

“But how’ll that happen if you get fired?”

“Because I will threaten them with the biggest motherfucking law suit of all time that will make news all over the fucking world and make them look like total douchebags. Vance is an asshole, but he’s not an idiot. He’ll settle in a nanosecond.”

“And you’ve got Mel on your side.”

“She’s a fucking cunty-bitch, but I’m willing to bet she’s one of the best lawyers in town.”

Justin turned to look at Brian’s profile and wasn’t surprised to see that Brian was grinning his head off like a kid in a candy shop with money burning holes in his pockets.

 

Justin was very surprised on Monday morning when Brian got up at his usual time, showered and shaved leisurely, dressed meticulously and sat down at the island to eat a full breakfast. Justin would’ve sworn that Brian would be up at the crack of dawn stressing over his partners’ meeting at ten. In fact, Justin had been very worried about the possibility of heart palpations again.

“I can come with you,” Justin said for the thousandth time. “I’ll just sit in the lobby or the Jeep or something, so I can be right there if you need me.”

Brian picked up his briefcase and checked it to be sure he had everything. “I won’t _need_ you,” he said. “But what I _do_ need is for you to stop hovering. You’re bugging the shit out of me. Do something useful; it’ll take your mind off things and before you know it, I’ll be home with a boxful of shit from my office that I’d been asked to clear out. We’ll celebrate with a fuck, then I’ll call Mel and we’ll meet her at the diner where I will eat any fucking thing on the menu that I fucking feel like eating while plotting legal mayhem with relish and glee. Later, Sunshine.”

But ‘finding something useful to do’ was far easier said than done. Justin managed to distract himself by surfing the web until the time of the meeting arrived. After that, he just paced and dashed back and forth from the bathroom due to nervous bowels. Brian had seemed so serene, but then again, Brian was a consummate actor. He could be totally freaking out inside, and no one would know it.

Next week would be the end of the second trimester. The babies were the size of rutabagas! Brian was getting truly big, and it was easy now to feel the baby’s movements just by resting a hand lightly on Brian’s belly – an act everybody wanted to do all the time, much to Brian’s annoyance. It especially irritated him when someone would feel a kick and shrieked with delight.

 _I’m going to start needing ear plugs_ , he groused. _I can’t tell what’s worse – getting kicked in both kidneys simultaneously or having Honeycutt lose his shit when he feels it_.

There’d been a gradually increasing number of minor problems, but even though they were “minor” they seemed to be happening three of more times a week. Dr. Bernstein was staying calm, but every time they went to see him because something seemed wrong, he started sweating profusely and a large vein in his temple developed a tic.

So far Brian had had five bouts of extreme vomiting even though his morning sickness had tapered off after the first trimester. He’d also had brief but weird vision issues like blurring and seeing double. He’d never had migraines before, but now he sometimes did, and they totally incapacitated him – he couldn’t bear light or sound or even the sight or smell of food. He’d actually lost weight because of it! He’d also claimed to feel feverish and occasionally came down with a case of the chills despite fact it being an exceptionally warm late summer. Fortunately, none of the problems occurred at the same time, but nonetheless it scared the living shit out of them both that they were happening at _all_. In fact, it’d finally scared them enough that they’d decided they’d switch to the care of a OB/GYN as soon as the whole work situation was dealt with. Brian was not crazy about it; for some reason it made him feel “girly” and “weak,” and he was adamant about hiring a male OB/GYN, claiming a female doctor would be “prejudiced” against him, and for some unknown reason want to kill either the babies or him or all three of them. It was patently irrational, but Justin had long ago discovered that roiling hormones and reason were apparently incompatible with each other. They’d found a couple doctors who seemed promising, and it was Justin’s job to sound them out with hypothetical questions. 

It was coming up to two o’clock and Justin was starting to lose his mind when Brian walked through the door carrying a box and whistling merrily. He dropped the box on the table, held his arms wide, and said with a grin, “Ready to fuck your partner who’s no longer a partner?”

The fuck was a good one. Brian let Justin rim him for longer than usual (rimming Brian was his favorite bedroom activity) before mounting him and having his wicked way. Brian was full of sounds which drove Justin wild, and he was able to come twice. Afterward they took a shower and blew each other. There was something about Brian on his knees with his lusciously swollen belly resting on his thighs, rapturously sucking Justin’s cock that made Justin absolutely _crazy_ with lust. Then after the shower, Brian walked fully, gloriously naked to the desk where he dialed the number for Mel’s firm on the landline.

“The eagle has landed,” he said. “Meet you at the diner in half an hour.”

 

Unsurprisingly, Mel had already drafted a complaint. After they’d ordered (which Brian insisted they do before getting embroiled in a legal discussion), she explained what they were claiming.

“It basically comes down to the fact that _both_ federal and state law prohibits employers from firing employees because they’re pregnant. Nowhere in either statute does the legal definition state that the pregnant employee must be female to fall under the statutes’ protection. Pregnancy is a genderless condition. Now, of course, your employer will claim that the statutes were obviously intended to only cover pregnant _women_ because men don’t get pregnant. That’s bull shit. The law says what it says, and it says one can’t discriminate to the detriment a pregnant person. Period. Not only that, but regardless of the gender of the person who is pregnant, the condition of pregnancy is exactly the same. In other words, gender is totally and utterly irrelevant. Plus, add to that the fact that your pregnancy is very high risk, and in my opinion, your employer risks being sued for damages if something goes wrong and can be traced back to the stress of being fired, and I’m going to make it abundantly clear that we’ll be pursuing that _very_ costly option if need be. They’re going to settle, Brian. The only real question for you is what you want the remedy to be. My guess is you’ll be given your employment and title back. The question will be if you actually want to return to work or not. I’m sure you could browbeat them into starting your paid maternity leave now, if you think you should stop working, but you’ll also probably have the option to continue working until that point of time at which you or the babies’ health will be in jeopardy. That’ll be your call . . .” 

“I’m going to keep working . . .”

“He’s going to go on leave . . .”

Brian and Justin had spoken at exactly the same instant. Brian turned to Justin with an irate expression.

“You will _not_ tell me when to stop working,” he said. “That is _my_ fucking call!”

“Bull shit!” Justin replied just as angrily. “They’re my babies too, and I have a right to insure their safety.”

“What would not be safe is me freaking out because I’m fucking bored as shit!”

“I’d rather have you bored as shit than stressing over deadlines!”

“Boys, boys,” Mel said, holding up her hands. “This is something you to need to discuss at length and without me having to put up with it. All I need to know, Brian, is whether you want me to go ahead and file the complaint?”

“I do,” Brian said. “Today if possible.”

“All I need is your signature and I’ll drop it off with the court clerk in less than a half an hour. I’ll also file a motion for injunction so the court will have to take up your case immediately. If the court decides to block the enforcement of your termination, then you’ll be back in the saddle by the end of the day tomorrow. Also, if the court does grant an injunction, it’ll be more or less clear that we’ll win your case.”

She pushed the documents across the table, and Brian signed them. Then he and Mel snickered with evil glee. Justin wished he could join them, but Brian had scared the crap out of him by saying he wanted to keep working. As far as Justin was concerned it was insane and fucking irresponsible!

 

As luck (bad in Justin’s opinion, but good in Brian’s) would have it, the judge granted his motion for injunction which meant he was back at work on Wednesday morning.

“Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you assholes,” Brian said when Mel called him with the news.

As for dealing with the actual fact of Brian’s pregnancy, more of his colleagues and employees were curious than revolted, but the only person he let touch his belly was Cynthia, who, Brian reported to Justin, burst into joyous tears and very unprofessionally kissed him on the mouth.

“I’ve always suspected she’d wanted to do that,” he preened. “To be honest with you, if I was straight, she’d be the woman I’d marry. And for God’s sake, never _ever_ mention that to Linds!”

Justin vowed that he wouldn’t. He shuddered at the mere thought.

 

By the following Wednesday, the firm dropped its opposition to Brian’s suit. Mel was very disappointed. She’d wanted to get the case into court “just for the fun of it.” But Justin was relieved. The less shit on Brian’s plate the better.

 

Everything went back to what passed as normal in the Taylor-Kinney household. Brian went to work at the agency. Justin went to work at the diner and worked on _Rage_ with Michael (who’d flat out refused to make Rage pregnant). The twins tangoed and kick-boxed. People bought shit (which, amazingly, all complied with The Rules), and Justin even got Brian to were his snuggle baby carrier with the sandbag in it when they were home alone at the loft.

“I swear to God,” Brian told him. “If I _ever_ find out that anyone knows about this, I will exile you from my ass for all eternity. You will be banned summarily and without recourse to an appeal.”

But Justin didn’t need his arm twisted. Brian looked genuinely ridiculous, and Justin didn’t want anyone teasing him.

All was fine and good . . . _too_ fine and good, in fact. Justin was constantly glancing up at the sky in a look-out for the still-as-of-yet undropped shoe. Unfortunately, he didn’t have long to wait.

One morning, while reaming out the people in the art department, Brian collapsed with an unstoppable nosebleed. He was rushed to the hospital, and this time – thank fuck – he was seen by an OB/GYN doctor (who turned out to be a woman but in the condition he was in, Brian wouldn’t have given a shit if she was a tentacle-waving alien from outer space).

By the time they were told that one of the twin’s heartbeat was faint and irregular, Brian was already intuitively aware that something very serious was wrong. He yelled and caused unholy hell until Justin was allowed to be in the room with him. He almost wished he hadn’t been because what he encountered almost broke him right then and there.

They’d strapped Brian to the bed, but he was still struggling to escape. There was blood everywhere, and Brian was growing hoarse from screaming obscenities at people. The instant Justin entered, Brian looked at him with desperate pleading in his eyes, and Justin ran over to kiss his lips not giving a shit if he got blood all over his face – in fact he preferred there to be some. If Brian was going to be covered in blood, then he was too.

“One of them is dying!” Brian yelled at him, tears streaming down his temples and his voice cracking. “I fucking _know_ it! Jesus, Justin! Do something! You have to do something!”

“But what?!” Justin asked. “What the fuck can I do?”

“They’re not fucking listening to me,” Brian said. “They need to open me up _now_! They say they’re waiting, which is fucking BULLSHIT! If they wait, the baby will die, and they’ll have to cut me open anyway to remove it. If they have to open me up one way or another, then why can’t they do that NOW? They won’t fucking listen to me, Justin! Make them fucking _listen_!!”

Justin looked around frantically. They were alone. Where the fucking _fuck_ was everyone?! Justin was just about to run out into the hall and start screaming at the top of his lungs when the OB/GYN returned with two other doctors who looked like they might be surgeons. As soon as Brian saw them, he started making the hoarse inarticulate sounds of a feral animal in pain. Justin wanted to cover his ears, but he ordered himself not to. He had to have some fucking _balls_!

“Okay, okay,” the OB/GYN said to Brian. “Calm down. Moving around like that is not going to help things. I’ve got the ultrasound equipment here. We’re going to take a look to see what’s going on.” She turned to Justin. “How far along is he?”

“Exactly 28 weeks,” Justin said, but his voice was shaking and she didn’t understand him. She asked him to repeat himself.

“Twenty-eight weeks – exactly to the day,” he said, commanding himself to speak calmly and clearly.

She nodded and then turned back to Brian who’d stopped struggling but was crying in shuddering sobs. Justin actually groaned out loud. It felt like an insult to nature that he wasn’t allowed to wrap his arms around Brian and try to soothe him.

“Okay, Brian,” she said. “I’m going to release you, but you _must_ stay still. Do you understand me?”

Brian took a deep breath and then nodded. Ironically, as soon as he was released, he settled down. Justin swallowed back tears at the thought that Brian, of all people, had been restrained like a lunatic simply because he was terrified for the babies. Maybe it’d been necessary, but it broke Justin’s heart.

“It’s alright,” he said in a serene voice that surprised the hell out of him.

Brian turned to look at him and held his eyes without blinking. Justin couldn’t tell if the calm he found in Brian’s gaze was heartening . . . or fucking scary as hell.

Brian held still as the gel was slathered on his belly. To Justin’s deep dismay, he saw that the usual screen hadn’t been set up. The OB/GYN and the technicians could see what was going on, but he and Brian couldn’t. He expected Brian to go wild again, but he didn’t. Instead he lay very still.

Justin felt a wave of panic. He had no idea why, but he felt it in his gut, in his very bones.

“Tell me what you see,” Brian said to the OB/GYN.

“It’s not clear yet,” she replied. “I will tell you exactly what I see when I can understand it. You must understand, Brian, that you don’t have a uterus. Your pregnancy is completely novel to me. I need to take the time to be sure of what I’m looking at. Ah, there we go. I see them both now . . .”

“Are they both moving?” Brian asked. He sounded like he was asking Deb about the daily special.

The OB/GYN did not answer him.

Justin was almost sick. The answer was obvious. Then it happened.

Suddenly Brian was moving. No one had expected it and they were caught off guard. The OB/GYN stepped backwards with a startled cry. Everything seemed to me moving in slow motion, which meant that Brian’s grab for the scalpel on the surgeon’s table seemed to take minutes instead of seconds, as did Brian’s subsequent move in which he placed the blade against his belly and sliced himself open . . .

. . . and then suddenly time slammed back into itself. Everyone was moving at the same time; a tray full of instruments crashed to the floor. Someone was screaming, but whom? Doctors and nurses don’t scream. Brian wasn’t screaming, and then Justin realized it was him, but even though he realized it, he couldn’t stop.

“STOP!” he kept screaming at Brian. “I don’t care if we lose one of them – I don’t care if we lose _both_ of them – YOU CAN’T FUCKING DIE ON ME!!”

And then there were hands grabbing him, dragging him backwards toward the door. He struggled and stumbled to his knees and one of the hands actually grabbed him by the hair. He kept fighting and screaming Brian’s name at the top of his lungs all the way out into the hall. This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening, this _wasn’t_ happening!

“Mr. Taylor,” a voice said matter-of-factly. “If you do not calm down we will have you escorted out of the hospital.”

Justin’s screaming and struggling subsided into sobs. He crumpled to the floor and stayed there with his cheek pressed against the blessed cold of the smooth tile.

 

When his mom arrived, he couldn’t speak, let alone stand up from his chair and let her hold him. She sat down beside him and took his limp hand. They sat in silence as beyond the window, the sunny afternoon turned into a beautiful Indian summer evening. Justin sat staring straight ahead. Was this how Brian had felt while he’d waited to find out if Justin would live after the bashing? If it was, then Justin appreciated for the first time what it must’ve been like . . . how it must’ve felt. When Brian was well again, Justin was going to tell him that he understood now, and then he’d kiss Brian’s temple right where he, Justin, had been hit. They’d shared so many experiences – this excruciating hell of not-knowing was now another.

It must’ve been around nine o’clock when the OB/GYN came to find him. He looked at her face for any hint of the news she was about to tell him, and that’s when saw the weary relief in her eyes.

“Oh thank you, God,” his mother said as she slipped from her chair on to her knees, clasped her hands and held them against her chest. She was shaking with sobs. Justin put his hand on her shoulder as he looked up at the doctor.

“Congratulations, Mr. Taylor,” she said. There were tears in her eyes. “You are the father of a baby girl.”

Justin didn’t even pause to take in her words. “Brian,” he croaked. “Please tell me.”

The doctor sat down beside him and turned so she was looking directly at his face.

“Brian is in critical but stable condition,” she said. “I have every confidence that he’s going to be fine.”

Justin’s head dropped, and he let himself cry. Brian was going to be alright. That was all that mattered. Brian was going to be alright . . .

. . . and then he recalled the doctor’s first words. “A baby girl,” he said. “What about . . .?”

“We were able to leave her twin inside Brian, and like him, we expect she’ll be fine. The twins were actually in two separate compartments. We were able to remove the twin that was in distress without impacting the other.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’m reluctant to tell you this,” she said. “But I was going to advise against surgery until we knew if the fetus was going to live or die. I didn’t want Brian to undergo surgery if possible if he didn’t need to. But he took matters into his own hands. Once he’d made a cut, we had to proceed from there. Justin, I must tell you. The infant girl was saved, but she is very small and premature. We have her in intensive care, and are doing everything we can for her, but she’s not breathing on her own. I hate bringing bad news along with good news, but I fear her odds of survival are not good. But that said, she would’ve died if we’d waited much longer. Brian not only gave her life, he saved it as well. He’s quite extraordinary.” 

Both Justin and his mom laughed.

“He is indeed,” Justin’s mom said through her tears.

“Can . . . would it be possible for us to see her . . . I mean the baby?” Justin asked.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “A nursing assistant will take you to her. Right now, I’m going to return to Brian and make sure everything is stable.”

“When can I see him?” Justin asked. If he was completely honest with himself, he wanted to see Brian more than his new daughter.

“I think that should wait until tomorrow,” the doctor said. “Regardless, he’s not awake at the moment, so he wouldn’t be much of a conversationalist.” She smiled but then grew serious again. “Also, I think I should be there when he’s told about the baby girl. He’s going to be very upset, and right now he needs to remain as calm as possible for the other twin.”

Justin nodded and stood up. He could hardly feel his hand when he reached out to help his mom to her feet.

“You’re coming with me?” he said.

“Oh Justin, sweetheart,” she said tearfully. “How could you even think for a moment I wouldn’t? Come on, let’s go see your baby girl.”

She took his hand and they followed the nurse to the neonatal intensive care unit dedicated solely to prematurely born infants. They washed their hands and put on masks. As they entered the room where his daughter was, he did his best not to look at any of the other infants in their incubator-crib things. They were all so small, and they looked so fragile!

Finally, they stopped in front of one of the cribs with a incubator that said “Taylor-Kinney” on it. Before Justin’s eyes could focus on the infant, his mom gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. When Justin looked at his daughter, he immediately understood her reaction.

The poor little thing was _tiny_!

“She weighs exactly two pounds,” the nursing assistant said.

“What are her chances?” he asked.

“Around sixty percent,” she replied. “A lot will depend on how soon she can breathe on her own. Do you want to touch her?”

Justin swallowed the lump that’d lodged itself in his throat. He shook his head.

“Honey,” his mom said, but he held up his hand.

He couldn’t explain exactly what he was thinking – in fact, he wasn’t even sure he was thinking at all. He’d woken up that morning never imagining in a million years that he’d be a father twelve hours later. He couldn’t even get his head around it! It simply didn’t feel real. All he _really_ wanted was to see Brian – to hold his hand and talk to him. The little thing in the crib was just so . . . he couldn’t relate to it and even felt the most bizarre, discomforting feeling that he was angry at it. It was totally and utterly irrational, but part of his mind blamed the little creature for almost killing the man he loved. He didn’t feel love or protectiveness; instead he felt just . . . weird. Really _really_ weird. Which in turn made him sick with guilt. And what if the little thing was going to die? Why would he want to start to connect with it if it was just going to be taken away? Brian would be shattered; Justin had to stay clear-headed and strong to help him through his pain.

“Can _I_ touch her?” his mom asked.

“Of course,” the nurse replied. “You just can’t hold her yet.”

His mom nodded, and the nurse opened the incubator. He watched his mom reach down with a shaking hand and tenderly touch the little creature’s forehead. For the first time, he noticed it had dark brown hair, and then it opened its tiny blue eyes . . .

He covered his face and started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to take a short break and may not post the next chapter until Monday - we'll see. In the meantime, I want to catch up on replies to all the wonderful comments you guys have left me!


	20. The Face that Launched a Thousand Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Justin's daughter makes her Liberty Ave debut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many crazy wrongnesses concerning NICU practices that I don't even know where to start the list. Just go with it, pretty please :)

“So, they’re girls,” Brian rasped. “God help us.”

Justin smiled and smoothed the hair off Brian’s forehead. It would be awhile till Brian’s voice was back to normal. He’d shouted himself hoarse before Helen was born, only to wake up twenty-four hours later to shout some more. Justin suspected the hospital staff was praying he wouldn’t get his voice back until he was discharged.

They were waiting for the nurse to arrive with a wheelchair so that Brian could go to the NICU to meet his daughter. He’d been prepared. Justin had been impressed by how professionally their OB/GYN doctor had handled everything. She’d arrived around noon with a packet of information about premature births and a lifelike model of an infant pretty much the same size and weight as Helen. Brian had been very quiet, and Justin hadn’t known what to make of it; after all, he’d been quiet the day before just before he’d grabbed the scalpel. But then Justin had noticed the constant movement in Brian’s cheeks as he clenched and unclenched the muscles in his jaw. He’d been quiet because he refused to cry and scream anymore. Justin had laid a hand on his shoulder, but Brian had looked up at him and shook his head. He couldn’t bear to be touched. He’d also shaken his head when Dr. Russell tried to give him the model, and she hadn’t pushed him. She’d talked for a while about the important milestones in Helen’s development that they’d be watching for. Helen had started breathing on her own that morning, and Dr. Russell said that was a huge big deal that raised her chances of survival significantly. Justin had asked a few questions, but Brian remained silent. Eventually, he’d reached out and touched the model, which was made of gel-filled rubber, and slowly, over the rest of Dr. Russell’s talk, moved it closer to him, examining every little detail from the model’s feet to its distressed looking face. Justin was glad it didn’t look all rosy-pink and smiley because that was _not_ what Helen – or any of the NICU babies – looked like.

When the nurse arrived with the wheel chair, she and Justin helped Brian into it, and they rode the elevator to the floor where the NICU was located. Brian had talked a bit after Dr. Russell had left, but it’d been about nothing important. All the same, Justin could tell that Brian was utterly terrified.

Rather than wheel Brian through the unit, the nurse took them to a small private room decorated to look like a nursery. There were a lot of big-eyed baby animals, and Justin took a couple minutes (at Brian’s insistence) to reposition them so Brian couldn’t see their faces.

“I can’t fucking stand that shit in general,” Brian rasped. “But I hate it even more right now. As if I don’t already feel guilty enough. Little fuckers.”

“Brian,” Justin said softly. “You shouldn’t feel . . .”

Predictably, Brian waved his hand dismissively. “I feel what I feel,” he said. “Nothing you can say is going to change that, so spare us both the effort.”

Justin sighed. Dr. Russell had talked with them briefly about guilt and how a lot of parents feel irrationally guilty for their baby’s premature birth, but she stopped when Brian started scowling and snapped that she was an OB/GYN, not a ‘fucking therapist.’ Justin had given her a sorry-but-it’s-Brian-and-we’re-just-going-to-have-to-deal-with-it face. She’d nodded, but she looked sad. Later, she’d told Justin that the last thing Brian should feel is guilt. The only reason Helen was alive at all was because he literally cut himself open to save her. Far from causing her harm, he’d saved her life. She’d suggested that when things settle down that Justin and Brian either seek counseling or join a support group. Justin had nodded and smiled politely all the while thinking, “Yeah, _that’ll_ happen.”

After a couple minutes, the nurse knocked on the door.

“I have Helen,” she said. “Are you ready to say ‘hello’?”

Justin wanted to scream “the fuck we are!” and start wheeling Brian toward the hospital’s front door. What was Brian going to do? Was he going to go bat shit again like he did when he was first told how premature Helen was and what her chances of survival were? Would he reject her like Justin felt he’d done the night before? Would he break doing sobbing inconsolably? Would he just maintain this grimly glib persona and try to act like he was fine with whatever? Justin sat down. Whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want to have to be standing when it did. He held his breath when the nurse wheeled in the little incubator.

Helen was awake and waving her tiny limbs. She looked pissed off. Justin must’ve said it out loud because Brian said “duh.” It was the very last thing Justin had expected.

“Duh, of course, she’s pissed! She’s hungry and lonely. You’d be pissed too.” Brian looked up at the nurse. “What do we need to do to give her some of my milk? I don’t want her drinking some kind baby protein shake or whatever the hell it is you’ve been feeding her.”

Justin boggled at him . . . absolutely _boggled_. Would Brian ever cease to surprise him?

“I’m not a lactation specialist,” the nurse replied. “But I’ll see if one’s on call.”

“Do that,” Brian said. “But before you go anywhere, I want to hold her, and don’t even try to give me any shit about it. She wants to be held. Look at her! She just gave you the finger.”

Both Justin and the nurse laughed. Justin had never before been so thankful for Brian’s coarse bluntness.

The nurse very carefully opened the incubator.

“We strongly advise that contact be skin to . . .” she started to say and then realized it was moot. Brian already had his hospital gown open. The nurse smiled at him, lifted Helen out of the incubator, and gently laid her on Brian’s chest. Justin held his breath, and he was pretty sure the nurse did too.

Brian had watched the nurse intently, and now he was staring down at Helen. The silence in the room felt like a whole new kind of silence . . . and then Helen made a tiny, angry little noise. Brian looked up.

“You,” he said to the nurse. “Go get that milk-lady person, and you,” he looked at Justin. “Leave. Helen and I want to hang out for a while just the two of us.”

Justin looked at him as he felt his heart break. Did Brian not see them as a family? Was he going to refuse to let Justin be a parent too? Brian saw the tears in his eyes and smiled a kind smile that made Justin blink with surprise.

“Just for a bit,” Brian said. “Come back in when the boob-lady gets here.”

Justin nodded and stood up. Brian gestured for him to come close, and when Justin did, Brian kissed him very softly.

“You’ll have a chance for some alone time with her too,” he said. “Daddy.”

Justin grinned a huge sunshiny grin. When he left, he closed the door and felt a wave of emotion too complex to name. His life, he’d suddenly realized, would never _ever_ be the same again, and he also realized that he was going to be fine with that – it might take a while, but he already knew he didn’t want anything else.

 

“Helen?” his mom said when Justin met her in the hospital lobby. “I thought if it was a girl you were going to name her Justine? I’m disappointed; I really liked the idea especially since the two of you have decided not to hyphenate the twins’ surnames.”

“They’ll both have ‘Taylor’ as a middle name,” Justin replied. “It’s not like my name won’t get passed on in some way.”

His mom nodded, but she clearly wasn’t placated. “Well, it’s your and Brian’s choice, of course. I just thought ‘Justine’ was so lovely and perfect. Not only did it include your name, it makes me think of ‘justice,’ which is so appropriate since you two are gay.”

Justin shrugged. What could he say? He’d really wanted ‘Justine’ too, and was very hurt when that morning Brian had told him that the idea was the quote “dumbest idea in the world” unquote. He didn’t know what Brian’s problem was; he hadn’t been such an asshole about it when Justin had first suggested it a couple months ago. But, nope, it was not to be. Yes, Brian could only rasp, but he rasped loudly and used obscenities. “Justine” was shelved.

Irritatingly, Brian had never revealed the names he wanted, so Justin just had to hope they didn’t suck. He thought “Brianna” would be a possibility or even “Deborah” after Deb. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be “Joan,” and he was certain it wouldn’t be “Claire.” When Brian had said “Helen” it seemed to come from outer space.

“Huh?” Justin had said. “‘Helen?’ Isn’t that kind of old-lady sounding?”

“Old-lady sounding?” Brian rasped incredulously. “Where’s your Greek? Aren’t prep school kids supposed to learn Latin and Greek and shit? ‘Helen’ means ‘shining light.’ I would’ve called her ‘Sunshine’ except can you imagine being saddled with ‘Sunshine’ as your real name? What if your natural personality is morose or cunty? Having the name ‘Sunshine’ would just make you the butt of jokes. ‘Helen’ is more subtle, and if we don’t tell people what it means in Greek, no one will give me shit about being sentimental. Plus, it was Helen of Troy whose face launched a thousand ships – she was so beautiful men made war over her. Kind of fitting for a daughter of mine, don’t you think? If people still launched ships, my face would’ve launched a _million_ . . .”

“Oh my God, shut up!” Justin had said, laughing. “Okay, okay. You convinced me. Her middle name is still going to be ‘Taylor,’ right?”

“Helen Taylor Kinney,” Brian had said. “So it’s settled then. I’m glad. If you’d held out for ‘Justine,’ I would’ve insisted her middle name be ‘Judy.’”

Justin had just rolled his eyes.

“Let it go, mom,” he said. “It’s been decided.”

She sighed. “By whom?” she muttered. Justin ignored her.

“Do you want to see her again? She’s with Brian. I asked him if I could bring you up with me, and he was fine with it.”

She laughed ruefully. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t use the word ‘fine,’ but regardless I want to see her . . . and him, too.”

Justin grinned and kissed her.

When they entered the room where Brian and Helen were, they encountered the “boob-lady” feeding Helen with something that looked like a large eyedropper full of whitish-watery liquid while Brian held her against his chest.

“Hello Mother Taylor,” he said. “Or should I say ‘Grandma Taylor’?” He didn’t look away from Helen, but his tone made it clear she was welcome despite the very private moment he and the baby were sharing. “Hey, Sunshine,” he said. “Get a Kleenex, will you? My tits are leaking like the piece-of-shit sinks at Woody’s.”

Justin got a Kleenex and cleaned up Brian’s chest for him. He was pretty sure he was right when he assumed Brian wanted to keep holding Helen in both of his arms.

“Pretty crazy, huh?” Brian said. “Me and Hazel here . . .”

The lactation specialist waved to Justin and his mom with a smile.

“. . . thought it’d be a pain in the ass, but it wasn’t. In fact, almost immediately after you left, my tits just kind of started leaking on their own. She said it was triggered by nothing more that Helen’s proximity. I hope this doesn’t presage an entitled personality.”

“Sorry to tell you,” Justin said. “But given her dad’s borderless sense of entitlement, I think it’ll probably be a given.”

Brian snorted. “Hear that, Ellie? Didn’t I tell you your daddy is a dick? I’m afraid you’re just gonna have to roll with it.”

Justin laughed. “So,” he said happily after a couple minutes during which the four of them just watched Helen eat. “What do I tell everyone?”

Brian didn’t say anything.

“Brian?”

“Yeah, I heard you,” Brian snapped. “You’re not going to tell _anyone_ anything. Same with you, Grandma,” he said to Justin’s mom.

Justin frowned with surprise and disappointment. “Why not?” he asked.

Brian didn’t reply, and Justin repeated his question.

“Because,” he said angrily. “If . . . if . . .”

Justin’s mom cleared her throat. “What I believe Brian is trying to say, sweetie, is that nobody knows for absolute certainty whether Helen . . . well, whether she’ll make it, and I’m sure that he wants to avoid as much as possible having to talk about it if she doesn’t. Am I right, Brian?”

“A-plus,” Brian said. He hadn’t looked up while Justin’s mom was talking, but Justin heard him sniffle.

“Damn hormones,” he muttered.

“There,” Hazel said, breaking the awkward silence. “She’s had her fill. Good job, baby and momm . . . I mean daddy – oh God, I’m so sorry.”

Brian snorted, probably very glad for the change in subject. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I stopped being uptight about it a long time ago. Thank you for your help.”

“You really didn’t need it,” she said. “How about next time she eats, you can hold her and let her other daddy feed her. We want her to bond with both of you.”

Brian nodded but he didn’t look up. “Welcome to my special hell, Sunshine,” he said. “You’re going to ‘bond’ with her, and the chances are all you’ll have done is set yourself up for your own broken heart.”

“Oh, Brian,” Justin’s mom said sadly. “Try not to think . . .”

“But I _am_ thinking,” Brian said. “No way to completely shut _that_ train of thought out.” He laughed ruefully. “You know what’s funny?” he said. “Everyone thinks I must be a big, giant closet of repressed thoughts. They’re wrong. I’ve thought every thought I needed to think. I just haven’t shared most of them with anyone.” He looked up at Justin. “Although I have shared more with some people than others,” he said smiling. “But this particular thought – I don’t want to have to talk about until I need to . . . and maybe not even then, and that’s all I’m going to say on the subject. Now, let’s let Helen get some sleep and get me something to eat that isn't shitty hospital food. Twin number two loathes it as much as I do.”

Justin had been looking at his feet, but his head snapped up when he heard Brain’s words. He’d forgotten about Helen’s twin! How could that’ve happened? Justin watched the nurse put Helen back in her incubator and looked at Brian’s still swollen belly as he tied his gown closed. My God, Brian was amazing! How could he be so sanguine in the face of the possibility that what happened yesterday could happen again? Justin didn’t think he could be if he were in Brian’s shoes.

 

Brian stayed at the hospital for the next four days as the incision to remove Helen healed. He didn’t mind, though. In fact, to Justin’s surprised, Brian actually suggested he stay hospitalized until the second twin was born, but he was told that wouldn’t be necessary. Justin had been surprised at Brian’s request, but then realized that staying at the hospital would make it easier to spend time with Helen. In fact, Brian spent every minute he wasn’t sleeping at the NICU.

“Bastards,” Brian muttered in the Jeep one evening on the way back to the loft. “I’m still there all the time anyway; all they did was make it impossible for me to take a nap.”

When Brian was sleeping, Justin was with Helen. So that she could drink his milk whenever she was hungry, Brian had subjected himself willingly and voluntarily to using a breast pump, but no one was allowed to watch him while he used it or even talk about it. Something about it pushed Brian over some kind of ledge, but Justin didn’t think any less of him for it. If he was in Brian’s place, he would feel like a cow or something. He’d seen mothers at the NICU use them, and it just looked like a total drag.

Whenever the three of them were together, Justin could see the bonding that was taking place between Brian and Helen grow stronger and deeper. When he wasn’t with her, Brian was even more of an asshole than usual, and Justin had learned to metaphorically tip-toe around him even more quietly than he’d had to at the very beginning of their relationship. But everything changed as soon as he had Helen resting on his bare chest. He smiled and laughed and talked more than Justin had ever seen him. He chatted with Justin, with Justin’s mom, with nurses and nutritionists and neonatal specialists. And of course he talked to Helen. The hilarious thing about it was that he didn’t use any kind of baby talk. 

“Hey, Ellie,” he’d say as soon as the nurse gave her to him. “Sleep well? That neighbor of yours keep you up? Don’t worry; you’ll be strong enough soon to kick his little preemie butt. Not that I would necessarily condone such behavior, but I’ve been known to turn a blind eye or two now and then about any number of things. Speaking of neighbors, have you seen some of the stupid names some of your fellow-incubator-buddies have? Okay, so you think you’re all zen and shit, but don’t call your kid ‘yoga.’ And what about Lynnyx? Yeah, so it’s pretty cool to have a ‘x’ in your name, but c’mon. Lynnyx? No. Although, it could be worse. I was bored shitless while you were sleeping the other day, so I was reading this baby name book. Some assholes called their daughter ‘Blueberry.’ I’m serious. When I was a kid I saw a movie that was based on that book about the chocolate factory guy, and I remember one of the kids in it turned into a blueberry. Freaked me out! Also, what if your kid turned out to be fat? Blueberries don’t have waists . . . well, neither do I at the moment. Which reminds me – do you realize that you’re going to be a big sister to your twin. Crazy shit, huh? . . . ."

And on and on and on and on. Justin had no idea Brian could talk so much. He’d probably said more to Helen than he’d said to everyone else combined since he, himself, was born. And some of the stuff he talked about was so _weird_ and even inappropriate. He got into a whole monologue about the history of the vibrator one day. _Helen, did you know that the first vibrator was invented in the 1700s? It was steam-powered, which seems like a really bad idea, in my opinion. Many people are under the mistaken impression that only women use vibrators; I can assure you, based on extensive personal experience, that that’s not the case. In fact, your daddy loves the vibrator I got for him while we were in New York. It’s specifically designed to directly stimulate the prostate, which, I’m sorry to have to tell you, you do not have; although I’ve heard there’s a similar thing in women known as the “G-Spot,” but you’re going have to ask your aunts about that – well, not Auntie Em, at least I think not, but who knows? I don’t and I don’t want to find out._

Justin vacillated between enjoying listening to Brian talk to Helen and hating it. He hadn’t told anyone (and probably wouldn’t at least not until he could talk to Daphne), but he was terribly jealous of _both_ of them. He was jealous of Helen because it seemed like Brian loved her more than him, and he was jealous of Brian because he’d connected with her. Justin hadn’t . . . or at least he felt that way. Even when he was alone with her, he didn’t feel much of anything except boredom and anxiety – not so much because he loved her and was afraid she would die, but because he was terrified of what would happen to Brian if she did. For him there was no question of who he loved more; if asked to choose, he wouldn’t even have to think about. He felt crushing guilt, which made being around her unpleasant. He just felt like a horrible person, and he thought back with disbelief that he’d once fervently believed that _he’d_ be the one most attached to the twins. What a fucking joke. Even his mother had bonded with Helen more than he had! What the fuck was wrong with him? He shuddered to imagine what Brian would think of him if he knew.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying. He tried to talk to her too, but she seemed to cry and fuss a lot when she was with him. Could she somehow sense his ambivalence toward her? He even wondered whether he would’ve loved her if she was named “Justine.” Sometimes when he was exhausted after having been at school all day, he’d have to fight back tears and brief bursts of anger. Daphne had been right; he really _was_ too young to be a parent, but what was he going to do about that? Leave Brian? It was at that point in his never ending rumination that he’d give himself a mental Deb-slap. Of course he wouldn’t leave Brian! Not only did he not want to, but it was _his_ fault that Brian had gotten pregnant in the first place. Justin would _not_ be that guy who leaves his wife or girlfriend to raise his child alone. Who cares if Brian was a guy himself; the principle remained the same. Justin not only knocked him up, he’d demanded Brian carry to term and not get an abortion. Jesus! What a fucking asshole he must’ve seemed like! Why had Brian taken him back again and again? How’d he been able to tolerate Justin’s pious bullshit while he’d been fighting nausea, fatigue and a sore back? God, looking back, Justin should be glad he survived!

 

“Okay, Sunshine,” Brian said. “Time to tell me what the hell is going on with you.”

They were sitting at a table in the hospital cafeteria eating salads made out of stuff that only _resembled_ vegetables. The tomatoes were so far from being ripe that they actually had a green-greyish hue that was highly unappetising. As someone with taste buds, Justin was deeply offended by his salad, but as an artist, he was intrigued. Some of the colors were interesting and unusual. He could paint a still life and call it “Afternoon at the Hospital.” It could be a modern day _memento mori_.

“It’s about Helen, isn’t it?” Brian asked, taking a sip from his glass of flat Pepsi.

Justin frowned. Fuck. He thought he’d been doing quite well at disguising his deep ambivalence about his daughter.

“No,” he said indignantly. “Of course not.”

“Bullshit,” Brian replied.

Justin sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know,” he said with an exasperated sigh. "I guess . . . I don’t think she likes me.”

“Oh, for fuck sake,” Brian said. “She’s an infant. All she knows about “like’ and “dislike” is that she doesn’t like it when she’s got a full diaper, and she likes it when she’s got my tit in her mouth. She’s not thinking deep thoughts.”

“I know that,” Justin snapped. “It’s just . . . she looks in your eyes, but she never looks in mine. And when you give her to me, she fusses.”

“That’s because you bring nothing to the table. You aren’t a source of food. Don’t think there’s some mystical bond between me and her – she’s just hungry,”

“Now _that’s_ bullshit,” Justin said. “She adores you. It’s all ‘Yay! My Dad’s here!’”

“Plus she can probably sense her twin when I’m around,” Brian added. “Twins are the ones with bizarro mystical bonds. I bet they’re missing each other. She loves resting on my belly. It’s really kind of cool, actually.”

Brian smiled dreamily to himself; Justin wanted to strangle him.

“You know who Helen’s going to _really_ drive up the wall,” he said. “Michael. I’d keep him away from her.”

Brian waved his hand dismissively. “The two of you need to fuck each other or something. The jealous feud thing is getting old.”

Justin shuddered all the way to the marrow of his bones. Michael was pretty much the last person in the world he wanted to have sex with.

“No way,” he said. “Have you seen his chest hair? It’s beyond weird looking.”

Brian nodded contemplatively. “You’re right. I’d never really noticed before, but yeah.”

Hadn’t noticed before? Poor Michael. Brian really and truly did not think of him in a sexual way _at all_. 

“Back to Helen,” Brian said. “This she-likes-you-more-than-me crap has to end. It’s really starting to piss me off.”

“It’s not _my_ fault she doesn’t like me.”

“I am going to pretend I didn’t just hear that,” Brian said. “You’re acting like Helen is your little sister, not your daughter. Deal with it. She’s probably going to hate _both_ us when she’s fifteen so consider this practice. That’s the problem with you; you have all these fantasies built up in your head about babies and love and joy and animals with big fucking eyes. Get over it. Helen’s either hungry, sleepy or pissed off about something. That’s it. Don’t think about whether or not she loves _you_ , think about loving _her_.”

Justin boggled at him. He’d never in a million years imagined Brian saying about ninety percent of the things he’d just said. Brian blushed and shrugged irritably. Then he looked down and noticed the wet spots on his t-shirt. “Goddamn it,” he muttered. “Guess it’s time for her lunch. Come up with me.”

Justin took both of their trays. He didn’t want Brian doing any more walking than he absolutely had to. Helen’s twin was thirty-one weeks old, and Brian was starting to waddle. Justin was careful not to bring it to his attention, and he’d ordered everyone else not to mention it either. It’d become critical that Brian be encouraged and not teased; he’d arrived at the very edge of what he felt capable of doing – both physically and emotionally. They and the OB/GYN had even started talking about planning a caesarian, but Brian was adamant about holding out at long as he possibly could. But it was obvious that he was really starting to struggle.

When they arrived at the NICU, they were greeted by a beaming neonatal specialist.

“I’ve just examined Helen,” she said, “and I think we can take another step forward toward releasing her.”

Brian arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I don’t see why Helen can’t take a little fieldtrip this afternoon. It’s warm outside, and we can get you suited up to carry her skin-to-skin. Now, of course, if you’re going to introduce her to anyone, I would advise against passing her around. But I don’t see why you need to keep her a secret any longer. She’s going to be fine, daddy,” she said, patting Brian’s shoulder.

Brian closed his eyes and released the breath he’d probably been holding. When he opened them again, Justin felt certain he’d never seen such relief and happiness on Brian’s face before.

“Good job, kiddo,” Brian said when the nurse gave Helen to him.

“And good job to you, too,” the nurse said smiling. “Ready to get her into the kangaroo snuggly and introduce her to the world?”

Justin knew he was an asshole. He knew he didn’t even deserve to be called a father. But he wanted to scream and hit things. Where did he fit into this whole “good-job-good-job” picture? Nowhere. This was not how he’d imagined things would be. He’d been sure he’d fall madly in love with his daughter like Brian clearly (and effortlessly) had from the first moment he laid eyes on her scrunched-up, yellow, pissed-off-looking face. Jesus fucking Christ, he was going to cry like a little faggot. How old was he?

“Okay,” the nurse said to Brian. “Take your shirt off. The carrier will hold her against your bare skin, and then you can wear a coat and keep it open . . .”

“Actually,” Brian said. “I’m not going to be the one to take her out. Justin is.”

Justin had been staring furiously at a random stuff animal, but when he heard Brian’s words, his spun around. Him? Brian was going to let _him_ carry Helen on her first trip outside the NICU?!

“Really?” he said excitedly, and everyone chuckled – well, except Brian, of course. He just rolled his eyes fondly.

“Well, do you want to?” he asked.

Did he want to? After _Do you want to fuck me?_ , it was the stupidest question Brian had ever asked him.

“Fuck, yes!” he said. “Can we go to the diner?”

“Correction,” Brian said. “ _You_ can go to the diner. I’m not coming with you two.”

Justin frowned. “But . . . you’re the one who gave birth to her.”

“And you’re the one who filled my ass with come like a cream-puff pastry.”

The nurse and neonatal specialist cringed and turned pink. Brian smirked. He loved shocking straight people, even ones he’d come to tolerate.

“But . . . I don’t know,” Justin said. He was suddenly terrified. What if he did something wrong? What if something bad happened? “I . . . Brian, she’s more comfortable with you.”

“Then we need to start working on that,” Brian said. “I’m probably going to be stuck here on my back like a beached whale counting the fucking minutes till the caesarian when she’s ready to go home, and you’ll be the one at the helm. Better start practicing now. Plus, you’re _dying_ to tell the others. They’re all going to coo and slobber, and it would bug the shit out of me. I’m cranky enough as it is; I don’t need to listen to a bunch of girly shrieking and shit. You’d actually be doing me a favor. I’m not in the mood for moistness.”

Justin suspected Brian was full of shit and just as eager (if not more so) to show off his little girl, but this was a gift he was giving to Justin – a really big, huge gift. Justin gave him a sunshiny grin and kissed him.

“Thank you,” he whispered in Brian’s ear.

“She needs to be fed within the next couple of hours,” the nurse aid, “and we’re going to keep her for a few more nights here, but she’s on her way home.”

Justin nodded. “We won’t be gone long,” he said to Brian who was looking a little anxious even though he was doing his best to hide it. “How about you call everyone and tell them to meet at the diner because I’m going to stop by with a surprise.” 

Brian snorted with amusement and pulled out his phone. “I wish I could see their faces,” he said. “Take good notes; I’ll want to hear all about it.”

Justin took off his shirt, and the nurse strapped on a small snuggie carrier. She was just about to put Helen in it, when Brian had a mini freak-out. He came over and took Helen away from the nurse.

“Are you sure she’s ready?” he asked. He sounded very unhappy, and Justin suddenly felt like crap. “What if she gets hungry?” He held Helen close with his face touching her little head. And then he squeezed his eyes shut on welling tears . . .

Suddenly, Justin remembered his mother’s words in the parking lot at Wendy’s when Justin had told her he was thinking about taking full custody of the twins once they were born:

_Just wait until you try to take those little babies out of Brian’s arms and walk out the door! If someone had tried to do that with you and Molly, I would’ve torn them to ribbons with my teeth!_

Jesus fucking Christ! What had he been thinking? He clearly hadn’t known jack-shit about anything! No wonder his mom got so pissed!

“It’s okay, Brian,” Justin said gently. “I’ll totally understand if you want to be the one to take her – at least come with us that way you won’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Brian snapped, which was total bullshit because it was obvious that he was. Helen started to cry. She probably sensed that her dad was upset.

“Shhhh,” Brian said against her little ear. “Your daddy’s going to take good care of you, and then you’ll come back here and have a snack. I promise I won’t eat any hot sauce while you’re gone.”

He smiled weakly and handed Helen back to the nurse, who put her in the snuggie. The moment she was secure and resting against Justin’s bare chest, she settled down and stopped crying. Justin felt a jolt of pure unadulterated love. He lifted his head to give Brian another sunshiny grin, but Brian had left the room. Dismayed, he looked around.

“He just needs a couple minutes to be alone,” the nurse said. “You should just go now and not wait for him to come back. The longer it takes for you to leave, the harder it’s going to be for him. Plus, he’s a guy. He can’t bawl his eyes out like a new mom can. So, go ahead. Have fun playing proud daddy and then bring her back. Brian will be fine.”

Justin nodded uncertainly, but she smiled and made a shooing motion with her hand.

 

Justin parked as close to the diner as he could. Helen was tucked away in her car seat, which made her look even tinier than she already did. His hands shook as he unbuckled the belts and lifted her out. She didn’t make a sound and just blinked at him. Justin gave her a big smile.

“Ready to be adored?” he said as he put on the snuggie and Brian’s leather jacket.

His heart was pounding so hard when he reached the diner’s door that he had to pause and take several deep breaths. As far as he knew, Brian had contacted everyone. He couldn’t wait to see their faces!

He pushed open the door, and there they all were, even Daphne. He had Brian’s jacket wrapped around him so no one could see the snuggie.

“Hey, Sunshine!” Deb screeched. “Brian called to say you have a surprise!”

Justin didn’t know if it was necessary, but he held a finger up to his lips anyway.

“Ssshhhhh,” he whispered. He summoned Deb to approach, and when she was close enough, he opened his jacket.

Deb went completely bat shit although to Justin’s great relief, it was quiet. She looked like a crazy woman in a silent movie, jumping up and down, her pencil and pad and even her wig flying off.

“WHAT?!” Michael squawked, and Deb smacked him on the back of his head.

“Keep it down!” she whisper-yelled. “Sunshine has a baby!”

All hell broke loose although it was quiet for the most part. More jumping and waving arms and whispered “ohmyGod! ohmyGod!”

Justin was beaming to the point where his cheeks ached. He went over to the gang and let each of them look at Helen’s head and touch her soft dark hair. No one’s eyes weren’t moist, or, in some cases, overflowing . . .

. . . and then someone asked the questions:

“Where’s Brian?” Lindsay asked. There was fear in her voice.

“And where’s the other twin?” Daphne chimed in.

Everyone fell even more silent than they already were. Justin held up his hands.

“Brian and the other twin are fine . . .”

Deb broke into grateful tears and crossed herself. “Thank you, God,” she said.

“It was pretty scary,” Justin said. “But everyone’s fine.” He told them as much of the story as he thought Brian would be okay with. Everybody stared at him with saucer-wide eyes.

“You haven’t told us her name,” Emmett said, doing a good imitation of Michael by bouncing around like a kernel in a popcorn machine.

“Well, she’s a little jaundiced right now, and she spends a lot of time with either milk on her chin or looking really super pissed off, but Brian is convinced her face will launch a thousand ships one day . . .”

“Helen!” Daphne said. “Helen of Troy! How perfect for a girl with the hottest dads in the world.”

Justin beamed at her even more than he already had been. His face was definitely going to get stuck that way.

“Helen Taylor Kinney,” he said proudly. “Born October 8, 2002 at 7:17 p.m. and weighing two pounds.”

There was another silence. 

“Two pounds,” Deb breathed. “Oh the poor little thing . . .”

“And poor Brian,” Lindsay said. “How did he take it?”

“He freaked out when he was first told, but then he just dealt with it. You should’ve seen him; it was pretty impressive.”

“That’s what moms – and dads – do,” Deb said. “They roll up their sleeves and do what needs to be done. Good for him!”

“Is he nursing?” Lindsay asked.

Justin made a face. “Uhm, I think that’s a question you should ask him. Some of the details from the past few days are going to be his to tell.”

Deb made a “phooey” gesture. “ _Of course_ , he’s breastfeeding,” she said. “Are you kidding? This is Brian Kinney we’re talking about. If he’s going to do something, he’s going to go all out. How adorable! I hope he’ll let me watch.”

Justin laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Don’t set your heart on it . . .”

“. . . hey,” Emmett said. “Where’d Michael and Ben go?”

“I think they left,” Ted said.

Deb sighed. “Shit I knew this was going to happen.”

“Knew what was going to happen?” Justin said, frowning.

“That he was going to have a hard time once the babies were born. He’s had a hard time at every stage . . .”

“Yeah,” Emmett said. “We thought we should put him on suicide watch or something when Brian got his baby bump . . . not _literally_ , of course. But he’s taking everything really hard.”

Justin had some choice words to say in response, but he held his tongue in deference to Deb.

“Maybe Michael could visit Brian and Helen alone sometime,” Lindsay said. “Maybe if he saw how happy Brian is and gets to hold the baby, he’ll be less upset.”

Deb nodded and wiped her eyes. “This has all been so hard for him, poor kid.”

Justin would’ve rolled his eyes and mentioned that the person who’s _really_ had a hard time – and was still having one – was Brian, but then Helen made a little sound and started squirming. The world could’ve imploded and none of them would notice as they all crowded around Justin again. When Helen made another sound that could be a signal of some kind of anger or frustration, Justin’s cell phone rang.

Everyone laughed.

“Care to place bets on who that is?” Ted said.

“Brian!” everyone said more or less at the same time. 

“Hey,” Justin said. “We’re here at the diner. Want to say ‘hello’?”

“No,” Brian said. “I want you to get the hell back here. Helen’s hungry.”

“How do you know?” Justin asked.

“I just do. Now get in the Jeep and haul your ass back to the hospital.”

He hung-up.

Justin shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how he knows, but Brian says Helen’s hungry, so I’ve got to get back to the hospital before he has a hormone induced meltdown.”

“I’ll tell you how he knows,” Deb said. “It’s here.” She thumped her fist above her heart. “Don’t try to understand it; just go with the flow.” She cackled. “Not a bad little pun,” she said. “Brian would be proud. Make sure you tell him about it . . .”

Justin’s phone rang again.

“You’re not in the Jeep,” Brian said with the calm, menacing voice that always made Justin’s hair stand on end. “Get. In. The. Jeep.”

Brian hung-up again.

Justin gave everyone a grimace. “I’ve gotta run,” he said. “But Helen’s going to be released soon and then you can actually hold her instead of just touch her head . . .”

“. . . Wait!” Daphne said. “Hazel or blue?”

For some reason her question triggered a lump of happiness to dislodge from Justin’s heart and catch in his throat, filling his eyes with grateful tears.

“Blue,” he said huskily. “The exact same shade as mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh! There was an RL crisis over the weekend that spilled into Monday. I'd intended to reply to comments, but I didn't get very far. I _will_ catch up, though. I promise :)


	21. Ireland's Legendary Warrior Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God! Lots and lots of drama! Lindsay's up to something. Brian makes the Mother of all Concessions. Justin's torn. Brian goes into labor, and little Maeve the Bad Ass is born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More crazy medical shit. God, I'm so glad to be done with that part of the story! Also, I realize that the bathroom in the loft doesn't have a doorknob, but let's pretend it does.

The nice thing about being a pregnant man is that no one asks you annoying questions like _Was it planned?_ or _That must be a HUGE baby! Do you feel like you're about to pop?_ or _Should you be eating/drinking that?_ or _Do you have any cravings?_ or, worst of all, _Would you like my seat?_ Fortunately for Brian’s ego, no one gives up their seat for a fat, pissed-off –looking dude or lets him cut ahead in line at the grocery store. If people do anything at all, they look at Brian’s beautiful face and then at his belly, and the disconnect makes them so confused that their heads explode.

Brian loved it.

“I might get pregnant again,” he said. “I love fucking with people. But then again I love just fucking them too, which I CAN’T DO NOW AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT! I WANT MY COCK BACK!”

“I swear,” Justin said fervently every time the possibility of another pregnancy was mentioned by anyone in any manner, “after Helen’s sister is born, I won’t even _look_ at Brian’s ass unless I’m wearing a perfectly-fitting, heavy-duty industrial-strength condom.”

“Oh, it won’t happen again,” Deb said once, waving her hand dismissively. “This was a one-in-a-trillion event.”

“I’m not planning on testing that theory,” Justin told her. “You haven’t lived with a pregnant Brian Kinney for eight months. You can’t even imagine what hell looks like until you do.”

“Poor Sunshine,” Deb said, patting him consolingly on the shoulder. She looked like she was about to say something else when the man, himself, walked into the diner with a snuggie-carrier full of Helen. No matter how many times Deb saw her, she still went crazy, cooing and smiling and tapping Helen’s little nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said to Brian. “Between the snuggie and the belly, you look like a fucking grizzly bear!”

“Be sure not to poke me then,” Brian groused. “Where are my French Fries? I thought we agreed there’d always be a batch set and ready to go anytime I set foot in this lousy establishment.”

“Grumpy, grumpy. Your daddy’s a grumpy-puss,” Deb said, lifting Helen out of her snuggie. Since the yellow of jaundice had gone away, it was easy to see now exactly why Helen was an apt name. She was _gorgeous_. She was pure Brian – at least that’s what Justin thought. Everyone else said she was a perfect mixture of both of them, but Justin was sure they were just being nice. Helen’s mouth looked like Brian’s; her nose looked like Brian’s, and despite the fact they were blue, her eyes looked _exactly_ like Gus’s, which meant they, too, looked like Brian’s.

Emmett came over. For a nanosecond he looked like he might pat Brian’s belly, but the time for touching Brian had long ago expired. Justin thought he heard a feral growl, and Emmett snatched his hand back as though he’d stuck it through the bars of a tiger cage.

“I wouldn’t do that if you value your fingers, sweetie,” Deb said. “Here, why don’t you hold the one that escaped; I’ve gotta take people’s lunch orders.”

Emmett took Helen and bounced her up and down. “Hello there, honey . . .”

“I wouldn’t do that either,” Deb said. But it was too late. Helen spat up down the back of Emmett’s new orange valor shirt.

Brian grinned at him evilly. “Just remember, Honeycutt. That’s my milk she just christening you with.”

Emmett looked like he was going to barf, himself, and quickly handed Helen to Ted.

“Hey,” Brian said. “I don’t want any loser dust rubbing off on her.”

“Ha ha,” Ted said, not even bothering to look at Brian and instead wiping Helen’s chin clean with a napkin.

Just then Michael walked in but froze on the threshold when he spotted the “Kinney Clan,” his eyes wide with dismay like a deer in headlights. 

“For God’s sake, Michael!” Deb yelled. “Close the Goddamn door! It’s fucking one hundred degrees below zero out there!”

“C’mon, Mikey,” Brian said irritably. “Stop heating the sidewalk, get in here, and hold my baby. I’m sick of this shit. She won’t bite . . . thank God seeing as she spends half the day with my tits in her greedy little maw.”

Michael closed the door and approached them slowly. He was giving Helen a wary look.

“Please scream, please scream, please scream,” Justin chanted under his breath.

“You’re horrible,” Mel whispered in his ear making him jump out of his skin.

“Goddamn it, Mel!” he screeched, and Helen burst into tears. Justin had never heard a more beautiful sound.

“You planned that, didn’t you?” he said to her. “Admit it. You’re evil.”

“Possibly,” Mel said. “But I’m also fucking sick of people acting weird about the baby.” She nodded in the direction of Lindsay. Justin gave her an “oh, shit” face.

“Lindsay, too?”

“Yup. She was able to handle it for about a week, but now she’s melting down big time.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s seems that everything is wrong in one shape, form or another, but you’ll be very surprised when I tell you that she won’t talk about it with me. Ssshhh, here she comes.”

Justin put on his best WASPy “Why, hello there!” expression. They lovingly air-kissed each other’s cheeks. When she pulled away, it became obvious to him that she’d been crying. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“Is everything okay with Gus?” he asked with concern. 

Lindsay’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s fine unless you count the fact that he’s not wanted.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Mel said rolling her eyes and walking away.

Justin grimaced inside, but he was extra careful not to let it show on his face. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

She sniffled, tossed her hair back, and smoothed down the front of her cashmere Talbot’s sweater.

“Nothing,” she said, and gave him a watery smile.

Oh boy.

Justin watched her approach Brian as though she barely knew him.

“Hello, Brian,” she said primly. “It’s nice to see you and Helen here, but are you sure she should be out? It’s awfully cold. I didn’t think it was appropriate to take Gus outside this morning and he’s a toddler.”

Brian froze as several expressions crossed his face in quick succession. Then he glanced over at Deb who’d been listening to Lindsay’s words. Brian looked panicked. Justin could see the question in his eyes: “Did I fuck up?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Deb said. She went to Ted and took a sniffling Helen in her arms. “Have you seen that snuggie? It’s made for exploring Antarctica. It’s even got warm water bottles that surround her on every side . . .”

“Plus Brian, himself, is hot,” Emmett added.

Deb cackled. “She’s fine, aren’t you, my little pea who’s no longer in a pod?” She kissed Helen’s cheek and then turned to her son.

“I am going to give her to you,” she said sternly. “You’re gonna hold her and you’re gonna like it.”

It was Justin’s turn to freeze. If Michael dropped her . . .

Deb approached her son, who actually took a couple steps back. Deb wasn’t deterred. “Hold your arms out. There you go. She’s not scary.”

Michael’s whole body was stiff; it would be a miracle if Helen couldn’t sense his discomfort and scream again (an event that would’ve pleased Justin to no end). But then slowly he began to relax and started looking back and forth between her face and Brian’s. Eventually, he smiled.

“She looks _exactly_ like you,” he said to Brian. Was that relief in his voice? Justin wanted to strangle him.

“Yeah, Sunshine,” Brian said. “Are you _sure_ it was you who shoved your ten-inch cock up my ass and shot your huge load like a stud stallion?” He gave Justin a wink that said loud and clear “just leave it alone.”

Mel nudged him in the ribs, and it was all Justin could do to keep from cracking up with laughter. He glanced around; everyone was either shaking their heads or rolling their eyes or both. Except Lindsay.

“Brian,” she said. “Can I speak with you alone for a minute?”

Brian had just been served his French fries. Justin expected him to tell her to buzz off until he was done, but he didn’t. Instead he took Helen from Michael and gave her to Justin.

“Back in a sec,” he said.

Justin was surprised; Brian had said a normal thing!

“I was talking to Helen, not you,” Brian said by way of clarification and followed Lindsay outside. Helen reached up for Justin’s nose. She was still so small that she could almost get her fist in one of his nostrils.

“Do you think you could work on civilizing him? Please?” he asked her. She smiled and burbled milk down her chin.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he said and kissed her forehead.

He looked out the window and couldn’t see Brian and Lindsay; they’d probably gone to the little park where Ethan sometimes played (hopefully not today) to sit down on a park bench for the sake of Brian’s back and feet.

Mel came over. “Christ,” she said. “She just has to know that she’s on his mind, and if she thinks she isn’t, she’ll create a reason to be.”

Justin frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’ll bet you anything that she’s out there picking a fight with him over Gus and how now that Brian has the twins, he won’t spend time with Gus anymore. She said on the drive here that she thought it was ‘cruel’ that Brian had started spending Saturdays with Gus ‘just for practice’ and now he’ll dump Gus in favor of the twins.”

Justin scrubbed his face with the hand that wasn’t holding onto his daughter. “I can see that Gus is being used as code for Lindsay, herself,” he said.

“That’s my guess,” Mel said. “Can I hold her for a moment?”

Justin nodded distractedly and gave Helen to her. He really didn’t want Brian getting upset. Their OB/GYN, Dr. Russell, had told them that the situation with Helen’s twin would be entirely different than the situation with Helen had been. She even thought it was possible for Brian to go into some form of labor, which would obviously be disastrous because if he started pushing, there’d be nowhere for the baby to go. Depending on how strong the contractions were, Dr. Russell said she believed it was possible that the baby’s neck might get broken if Brian’s pushing squashed her fragile skull against his pelvic bone!

 _If he does go into some form of labor_ , Dr. Russell said, _you’ve got to do everything you possibly can to stop him from pushing. It’s going to be his instinct, but he mustn’t do it_.

Great, Justin had thought. Telling Brian not to do something was difficult on the best of days; telling him to not do something in the midst of labor would be tantamount to taking his life into his hands. He desperately hoped they’d have the caesarian before anything like that occurred. It was scheduled for the end of next week. Justin was crossing his fingers that Brian would be able to hold out for that long. 

Brian and Lindsay weren’t gone all that long (for which Justin thanked the freezing temperature). When they returned, they both looked angry and upset. Brian immediately came over and took Helen from Mel without saying a word. Meanwhile, Lindsay went straight to the restroom.

“I hope you didn’t just turn my home life into flaming hell,” Mel said.

Brian glared at her. He looked like he was about to say something when Justin stepped in.

“Hey,” he said to Brian. “Why don’t we head home? Deb? Can we get a box for Brian’s fries?” He reached for Helen. “Here, let me put her back in her pouch. Hi there, baby girl, ready to sit on your twin again?”

Once he got Helen settled and put on her knit hat with antennae sticking up (insects were not on the list of prohibited gifts), he took Brian’s arm and led him to the door. They were halfway home, their breath smoking in the cold, when Brian finally said something.

“She thinks I’m ruining your life.”

Justin almost tripped over his feet. “ _Excuse me?_ ” he said. “Mel said she thought Linds was angry because we weren’t going to be able to see Gus as much as we had been.”

“Who knows,” Brian replied. “Maybe she’s pissed about that too . . . well, actually, she’s not ‘pissed’ per se about you, she’s ‘just concerned.’ Goddamn it! I hate it when she does this shit. I know where it comes from, but I still hate it.”

Justin frowned. “Where do you think it comes from?”

“Oh, she’s feeling insecure. She’s worried that between you and the twins, she’s going to lose her place in my life. I told her not to be upset because _everyone_ is going to lose their place in my life. That didn’t help. I should’ve known better. Linds is a lot like me; neither of us wants to be treated like everyone else by the other. We’re special, you see. It’s why I’ve given her so much shit about Mel over the years.”

Justin blinked. He was frankly stunned that Brian had that much levelheaded insight into his relationship with Lindsay. He _knew_ it had to be due to the twins in some way. All of the changes in Brian were.

“But what’s all this crap about ruining my life? Where the hell did that come from?”

Brian shrugged. They’d reached their building, and the brief window for meaningful communication was closed. Justin sighed, but then he reminded himself that Brian was doing a better job of communicating than he ever had before. Helen wasn’t the only one taking baby steps.

“Wanna fuck?” Brian said when they got off the elevator. Justin instinctively freaked out for a second. Brian had asked the question in front of Helen! He mentally smacked himself on the back of the head.

 _Did he want to fuck?_ Was water wet?

He helped get Helen out of her snuggie and took her to the bathroom for a change of diapers while Brian wrestled himself out of his clothes. When he was undressed and propped up on his mountain of pillows, Justin brought Helen to him and watched her eat her lunch with her tiny hand pressed against Brian’s chest. Miraculously, Brian didn’t have a fit when Justin got a pad and pencil and started sketching. Like everything else, Brian had gradually taken breastfeeding in stride. He simply didn’t give a shit, and he liked not giving a shit. Next to fucking, it was his favorite hobby. Once he hadn’t given a shit if people had a problem with him being gay and fucking every guy with a mouth and an asshole; now he’d added breastfeeding to the list. Fuck ‘em.

After Helen had finished eating and then burbing it all back up again (at least that’s how it seemed to Justin), he put her in the crib by the bed and started kissing Brian as though Brian was air and Justin had been drowning. 

Sex was different. It was quieter so they wouldn’t wake Helen, but oddly enough – or maybe _because_ it was quieter – it was hungrier. They kissed and touched more; fingers and tongues went everywhere, and the sounds they made were soft and gut-deep. Brian found penetrative sex uncomfortable, so they sucked and stroked each other to orgasm again and again. And they smiled and laughed a lot (although quietly). Justin . . . well, actually _both_ of them had worried their sex life would come to a screeching halt, but it hadn’t. It’d just changed, and Justin made sure they did it as often as possible and for as long as possible, even if he wasn’t in the mood. It was absolutely _crucial_ that Brian not feel that the sexual/sensual part of his life was over. Justin had a hard time imagining Brian ever resenting Helen for anything, but he didn’t even want to _test_ his theory. Brian without fucking was like him without his sketch pad.

 _Oh, God_ , Brian moaned as he came for the third time in Justin’s hand, and Justin kissed him, making the moan his own as well as Brian’s. It was like making music together; their bodies taut and perfectly in tune.

Justin spread Brian’s come on his chest, relishing the scent and sensation. “Time to call a break?” he whispered, and Brian answered him eloquently with a huge yawn. “Do you want Helen with you?” They’d bought a special pillow that permitted Helen to sleep skin-to-skin next to Brian without them fearing he’d roll over and squash her.

Brian nodded and then yawned again. Justin got up to get the pillow. Helen made a grouchy sound when he picked her up, but as soon as she was snuggled up against Brian, she fell back to sleep again. Her dad followed in a matter of mere minutes.

It was midafternoon, and Justin wasn’t tired. He got up and started cleaning. The loft was a mess. They really needed to find a new place . . .

The housing situation hadn’t been an easy conversation – in fact it had downright sucked. They’d fairly quickly and easily settled on a neighborhood. Justin had been surprised; the area was full of artist-types who’d painted their houses wild colors and put interesting (or, in Brian’s words “fucking weird shit”) sculptures in their run-amuck gardens ("do these people not know how to use a fucking lawnmower?"). Justin had been shocked that Brian didn’t protest . . . but then he’d figured out why. Brian wanted to keep the loft.

He hadn’t pretended he was going to use it for anything else than a fuck pad, and *puff* just like that, without any prior discussion, he’d made it clear he was going to keep tricking. Justin felt broadsided. He’d just assumed that Brian would stop. Were the twins _really_ going to grow up with a father who frequented the baths, Woody’s toilet stalls and the backroom of Babylon? Was Brian going to come home sated after a night out with God only knows how many guys’ spit on his dick and in his ass? Were the twins going to come running to greet him after he’d fisted some guy in a sling? Did he honestly believe Justin would agree to be Brian’s fucking sloppy seconds – _again_?! Did being the other father of Brian’s beloved children mean anything? Apparently not.

It’d been immediately clear when Brian told Justin he wasn’t selling the loft that they were going to get in a colossal argument, so Brian took Helen to Deb’s with a container of milk, her blanket and her drooled-on stuffed squid (squids were okay as long as they weren’t pink and didn’t have big, sad eyes). It was incredibly weird watching Brian use the breast pump while they were both seething and itching for a fight, but they managed to wait until Helen was settled in with grandma Deb and Uncle Vic. Unfortunately neither of them had calmed down in the hour it’d taken to get her properly situated.

“I’m keeping the loft,” Brian had said the instant he closed the door behind him. “It’s mine, and I get to do what I want with it.”

“And how much is it going to cost?” Justin had said. “Taxes, mortgage, utilities. Don’t you think that should be money set aside for the twins’ college funds?”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God! I’m sorry,” Brian yelled, “but for a second I thought you might be guilt tripping me, but I must be wrong because throwing the twins’ welfare in my face isn’t something you would do, now is it?” The last words were spoken in a low, malevolent voice. “Justin, if you have a problem with my tricking, then let’s not pussy-foot around. Do _not_ make this fight about the kids.”

“But why the fuck not?! It’s not like they won’t be impacted! Do you honestly think that it’s not going to get out that their father is a fucking _whore_?!”

Brian had pounded up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom.

“Great!” Justin had yelled after him. “Talk about passive aggressive!”

“I’m not being passive aggressive,” Brian had said through the door. “I’m insuring that I won’t slap you so hard you land in next week. If I were you, I’d get a dining room chair and prop it under the doorknob because if you call me one more name, I’m going to lose it. Don’t test me.”

“The truth hurts!” Justin had yelled, but he’d done as Brian advised and locked him in. Who knew what Brian was capable of with eight months of pregnancy hormones saturating his brain?

“Why do you think I want to keep the loft?!” Brian had yelled back. “I’m not going to fuck in public anymore! I’d bring my tricks here! I’ll have ample opportunity to get cleaned-up afterward! Don’t try to pretend it’s about spit and come! It’s about you being jealous! Well, fuck that! I am _not_ going to live my life constrained by your fucking issues and insecurities. Yeah, so I have kids; that doesn’t mean I have to live like a fucking breeder!”

Justin had sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands. _Of course_ , it was about jealousy – but it was also about wanting to lead a normal fucking life. Was that such a bad thing?

“We’re going to fight about this all the time,” he’d said. “Parents can’t be fighting all the time. How’d that work out for you and Claire?”

“We will only fight all the time if you don’t get down off your moral high horse and pull the stick out of your ass.”

“And if I don’t?”

There’d been a long silence.

“I swear to God,” Brian had said. “I swear to _fucking_ God that I will raise holy hell if you treat this as a reason to break up and try to get custody of the twins.”

“ _Now_ who’s blackmailing whom?!”

Brian had made a sound of intense exasperation. “Okay, Justin. What the fuck do you want? Put it on the fucking table. Are you saying I can’t trick at all? And if you are, do you even _fucking know me_?! Just because you stuck your dick up my ass and came, it means I have to be monogamous?! That’s _bullshit_ , and it’s not going to happen! Either we do this honestly and above-board or I’m going to cheat on your ass and make sure that everyone knows it! Do you think I can’t make your life hell? Don’t fucking test me because I can and I will!”

Justin had stood up, grabbed the alarm clock and thrown it against the door as hard as he could. “You are a fucking _child_ ,” he’d shouted. “Do you ever plan to grow the fuck up? So, what then? Are you going to be sticking your dick in random guys’ orifices when you’re fifty?”

“As long as I can get my cock up, I’m going to be sticking it any Goddamn place I want! Jesus fucking Christ! I’ve already offered a huge compromise! I’m going to stop fucking in public, which you damn well know I love. I won’t even go to the fucking baths! Those are big fucking concessions! Where are yours? Or are you such a total fucking dick that you don’t think you have to make any?”

Justin had sunk back to the floor again and stared ahead unseeingly. Could he compromise? Was having an open relationship something he could bear to tolerate? And if he couldn’t, what the fuck were they going to do?

He’d drawn up his knees and hugged them to his chest and sat like that silently for what felt like an eternity.

“Never the same guy twice,” he’d finally said, his voice hitching on the verge of tears.

“Duh.”

“No names or numbers exchanged.”

“Like the guys won’t already know my name.”

“You know what I mean. No kissing.”

“Duh.”

“Home by eleven.”

Silence.

“Midnight.”

“Fine. Midnight. No going out if one of the kids is sick.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t even think that, let alone say it. Next.”

“You can fuck during the day, but you can only go out at night once a week.”

“Agreed.”

“I can fuck too.”

“Like I give a shit.”

“Always shower afterward.”

“You know that I already do that.”

“No one but me can fuck you.”

“Oh my God. You’re kidding me, right? You felt the need to say _that_? God, you can be such a fucking douchebag sometimes.”

“No bare backing.”

“Again. I will pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“No sitting on other guys’ faces.”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Okay, well then don’t let them finger you. Use beads or a vibrator or something.”

*sigh* “Okay.”

“No orgies.”

“Now, that’s just stupid. What’s the difference between one trick and ten?”

“Okay, no more than four.”

“Six.”

“Fine. Just don’t tell me about it. No conversations.”

“As though I talk to tricks anyway.”

“Sometimes you have a beer or a glass of wine with them.”

“Not going to be drinking until I’m done nursing, so no need to cross that bridge yet.”

“Great. I’m looking forward to that discussion. Just don’t come home drunk like . . .”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“No really perverted stuff.”

“Why? You want watersports and sounding all to yourself?”

“You’re Goddamn fucking right I do.”

Brian had laughed an actual laugh. “What about cock and ball rings?”

“I guess they’re okay as long as you don’t practice orgasm denial.”

“How about I can do it to the trick, but he can’t do it to me?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Besides I don’t let tricks do that anyway. I don’t want some guy telling me when to come. Fuck that. Only you have that privilege.”

Amazingly, Justin had started getting a hard-on. “No one ties you up.”

“Duh.”

“No more than two multiple orgasms.”

“Him or me?”

“You.”

“Two? That’s fucking draconian!”

“Okay, then three.”

“Five.”

“Four!”

“Alright. Anymore? You’re going to have to write this all down.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will. And one last thing . . .”

“Yes.”

“You wear a collar that I put on you before you go out.”

The longest silence in the history of silences had ensued.

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I am. I’m _very serious_.”

“No, you’re not. You can’t possibly be.”

“I’ll tell you what; you can go to the baths if I get to collar you. How’s that for a concession.”

Justin actually hadn’t considered the idea until he said it. It was too _insane_! Brian would _never_ agree to being collared, but _oh God_ , just the thought of it! Justin had opened his jeans and started jerking himself off. The image of Brian in a collar! God, he’d known he was going to come in record time!

“You’re jerking off.”

“Yeah. So? Are you?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“So then you agree?”

“I choose it.”

“Fair enough.”

“And _nobody_ knows about it except the tricks, and they won’t know what it means.”

“Fine with me just as long as you’re wearing it when you fuck them.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! Why does that fucking turn me on so much? Am I a fucking closet sub or something?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Get in here and choke on my cock, Sunshine. You’re going to swallow it so deep it’ll trigger your gag reflex, and I’m going to shoot a gargantuan load down your throat. It’ll be so big you wouldn’t have room for dinner tonight and possibly even breakfast tomorrow.”

Justin had laughed, but he hadn’t needed coaxing to comply.

 

Brian was sleeping the sleep of a new father who’s eight months pregnant when Lindsay called Justin on his cell asking him to come over for lunch. He agreed – and he also decided not to tell Brian where he was going. The caesarian was planned for that Friday, and Justin was trying to keep him as calm and housebound as possible. He had a feeling that Brian wouldn’t be crazy about Lindsay’s invitation, but Justin was curious as hell.

When he arrived, Lindsay greeted him cheerfully at the door and let him in. That’s when Justin saw him. The PIFA’s fucking _assistant dean_! What the fuck? He stood when Justin walked into the living room and shook his hand enthusiastically. 

“Justin Taylor,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Assistant Dean Hamilton.”

Justin shook his hand and then glanced at Lindsay. She wasn’t just cheerful, she was beaming!

“Sit down, Justin,” she said. “I’ve made some finger sandwiches and tea.”

He sat down on a chair Lindsay had brought over from the dining room table. He was still curious, but his curiosity was now mixed with more than a pinch of trepidation. Lindsay gave them all teacups and poured their tea from a cute like teapot she’d bought at a flea market last spring. Justin knew because he’d been with her at the time.

“Lindsay and I are old pals. Her parents and mine are close lifetime friends,” Mr. Hamilton said with a warm smile. “Even though I’m a few years older, I feel as though Lindsay is a sister, as does Lynnette. We spent much of the summers visiting each other’s second homes on Martha’s Vineyard. In fact, our parents had chosen Martha’s Vineyard so that all of us could spend time together.”

“Uhm, that’s nice,” Justin said, stuffing a cucumber sandwich in his mouth. Lindsay handed him a napkin. The gesture reminded him of his mother, and he almost laughed.

“Anyway, to cut to the chase, Justin” Mr. Hamilton said. “Lindsay and I have been discussing for some time your extraordinary talent. Both of us agree that you have a bright future ahead of you, which is why I’m giving you a fully-endowed scholarship to spend the spring term in London studying at the Slade School of Fine Arts, which, as I’m sure you know, is one of the top five art schools in the world.”

Justin’s jaw dropped. Slade! He’d known about the scholarship but hadn’t even bothered applying. He was a good student, but he wasn’t _that_ good. An opportunity to study at Slade was, without a doubt, a career-maker. If he did well there, he could do anything he wanted!

He looked at Lindsay. There were happy tears in her eyes.

“Now, I know there are a few things that need to be ironed out,” said Mr. Hamilton. “Lindsay tells me you’ve recently become a father – it strikes me that you’re a little young for such weighty obligations. I hope you’re not offended; I am merely speaking frankly as a friend. For someone your age and with so much talent, I would hate to see you have to sacrifice important opportunities. Furthermore, the scholarship is only for a few months. Lindsay tells me that the mother of your children has an extensive network of family and friends to assist her while you’re away.”

Justin’s jaw dropped again. They were kidding him, right? Leave Brian to care for two newborns while he, Justin, went waltzing off to London?

“Thank you, sir,” he said slowly, “but . . .”

“But he needs to think about it,” Lindsay cut in.

“Well, _of course_ , you do,” Mr. Hamilton said. “I won’t need an answer until Friday. But at the risk of appearing to pressure you, I believe it would be a terrible shame to reject such a prestigious opportunity.”

Lindsay came over to sit next to Justin’s chair and took his hand. “I’m sure the . . . the mother of your children would understand. In fact, I emailed information about the scholarship to her this morning. I wanted you two to be able to discuss it as soon as possible.”

Oh. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_!

“You emailed Bri . . . ?”

“Brianna? Yes, I did. I didn’t want her to feel like I was cutting her out of the loop in any way. I know she wouldn’t like that.”

“Listen,” Mr. Hamilton said. “Why don’t you go home and discuss this with . . . what’s her name again?”

“Brianna,” Lindsay said.

“Right, why don’t you go home and discuss this with Brianna. I hope very much that she won’t prevent you from seizing this once-on-a-lifetime opportunity. If she truly loves you then I’m sure that she won’t.”

Justin stood although he had to hang onto the chair because he was shaking so hard. Brian knew. _Brian knew_! Lindsay smiled up at him, but he couldn’t return it because he’d forgotten how to use the muscles in his face. He shook Mr. Hamilton’s hand and thanked him, and then he bolted for the door.

When he got back to his and Brian’s building, he parked the Jeep in the reserved spot, turned off the engine, and proceeded to sit staring into space for an hour. His brain was having a hard time processing what’d just occurred. God! Before Brian got pregnant, he would have snapped up the chance to study at Slade – _Slade!_ – in a nanosecond . . . but now? Jesus. How could he possibly leave Brian from the beginning of January until the end of May? That was FIVE MONTHS! Five months without the babies; that was practically an eternity in baby development time! They’d be able to lift their heads and roll over by the time he got back. Would they even be able to bond with him? And Brian! “A close network of friends and family” – what total bullshit! As though Brian would ask for help or even accept it if it was offered! He couldn’t go. He couldn’t _believe_ he was even contemplating the possibility! But now Brian knew. Jesus. What was Brian going to do? Justin had no clue.

Just then his cell phone rang. It was Brian.

“Where are you?” he asked. His voice sounded very strange.

“In the parking lot,” Justin replied.

“Get the _fuck_ up here!” Brian yelled.

“Brian, what’s going on?” he yelled, but Brian had already hung up.

Jesus, he must be fucking _pissed_. That’s what had to be wrong. Had he read Lindsay’s email and was furious that Justin might even _consider_ taking the offer??

The elevator was too slow, so Justin ran up the stairs two at a time. When he opened the door, he heard Helen screaming her head off from her crib. Brian wasn’t moving. He was merely sitting on the couch!

“Brian!” Justin yelled. “What the fuck? Helen’s crying! How long have you been sitting there while she’s been screaming like that?”

Brian’s only answer was an agonized groan.

What the fuck?

Justin walked over to him. Brian was clutching a pillow as though it was a life buoy and he was about to drown. And then he suddenly curled around his middle with a cry.

“Oh my God!” Justin yelled. “What’s going on? Are you losing the baby?”

“What’s going on,” Brian said savagely, “is that I’m trying not to push! Call the ambulance and tell Dr. Russell to meet us in the emergency room!”

Justin dialed 911 with trembling fingers and gave the operator the address and told her that “someone’s in labor.” Then he got on his knees in front of Brian.

“I think it might help if you close your legs,” he said as calmly as he could. “That’s right. Please, Brian, you _can’t_ push.”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that already?” Brian yelled. “Oh, _fuck_!” He curled around his stomach again.

“Don’t push, don’t push, don’t push,” Justin chanted over and over while he squeezed Brian’s legs closed. “I know you want to, but you can’t.”

Brian’s hair was soaked with sweat. “Oh God,” he gasped. “You have _no_ idea how much this fucking hurts!” He arched his back and struggled to spread his legs. It took all of Justin’s strength to keep them together.

“Just remember,” he said. “She has nowhere to go. If you push, she could die.”

Brian whimpered with pain and fear. Where the fucking _fuck_ was the ambulance?!

“Should we cut me open?” he panted.

“NO!” Justin yelled. He didn’t know what to do, but he was sure that cutting Brian open was _not_ the answer.

Finally, the buzzer rang, and Justin ran to the door. When the EMTs reached the top of the stairs, he told them Brian was in labor, and they were just going to have to believe that. There was no time for an explanation. Just then his cell phone rang. It was Dr. Russell.

“Where are you?” she shouted.

“We’re still at home,” Justin replied. The sounds Brian was making had gone from frightening to positively _terrifying_.

“Jesus,” Dr. Russell exclaimed when she heard them. “Look, I don’t think there’s time to go through all the emergency room procedures. I’m coming there.”

Justin gave her the address and went back to Brian just in time to hear one of the technicians tell him to push. 

“NO! DON’T SAY THAT!” Justin yelled at her. “HE’S A _MAN_ , NOT A REALLY MANLY-LOOKING WOMAN! THERE’S NOWHERE FOR THE BABY TO COME OUT!”

He literally shoved the technician out of the way and squeezed Brian’s legs shut again. “Don’t do what she said!” Justin shouted at him.

“I’M NOT!” Brian shouted back. “I’M NOT A MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN FUCKING IDIOT!”

And then he froze. He must’ve become aware of Helen. The poor little thing was almost hoarse. Brian made an anguished sound.

“Can someone please comfort the baby?” Justin asked desperately.

“Helen,” Brian said weakly. 

Justin smoothed the wet hair off his brow. “She’s okay. You just concentrate on not pushing.”

Brian nodded frantically, his eyes wide and staring into Justin’s.

“I can’t lose the baby,” he rasped. “You _know_ that. If it comes down to her or . . .”

“Just _shut the fuck up_!” Justin yelled at him. “The baby is going to be fine; you’re going to be fine. I can’t bear to lose _either_ of you. So, just shut the fuck up, Brian!”

Justin was just beginning to realize he didn’t have the strength to keep Brian’s legs closed, and Brian was rapidly losing the strength to stop himself from pushing when Dr. Russell came running in.

“You!” she said to one technician. “Give the patient a local anesthesia. You, restrain him. You, give me a hand doing the caesarian, and you,” she said to Justin, “take Helen away from all this noise.”

Justin almost argued with her. He didn’t want to leave Brian’s side, but when the technician who was comforting Helen put her down to assist Dr. Russell, the poor little thing started screaming again. Justin scooped her up and carried her down to the Jeep where they cried together until they were both out of tears.

After God only knows how long, Justin’s cell phone finally rang. It was Dr. Russell. Justin was just about to scream at her to tell him how Brian and the baby were when she said, “Brian wants me to tell you that he’s already named your daughter, and apparently you have to ‘deal with it.’ He’s calling her Maeve after the famous Irish warrior queen. Why don’t you and Helen come up to meet her? There’s some blood around, but it’s not a lot, and Brian is fine . . . and, to be honest, Maeve miraculously is too. There is no reason that she should still be alive, but she is. And not just alive, she’s a healthy 6.8 pounds!”

Justin ran up the stairs and burst into the loft. Brian was lying on a sheet with his head propped on a pillow. He looked like total shit, but he was smiling. On his chest was a tiny, fussy, squirmy red baby.

“She’s already going for my tits,” Brian said. “She’s clearly your daughter.”

Justin laughed and knelt down beside him. “Good job,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

“Don’t say ‘good job’ to me,” Brian said. “This little girl kicked serious ass. Hey there, Ellie. Want to meet your twin?”

“Brian and the baby should go to the hospital,” Dr. Russell said. “One of the things we don’t know yet is what will happen to the uterus-type organ the babies grew in. It’s not clear whether it needs to be removed and if so how much of it. One of the things you two will need to decide beforehand is whether you plan to have more children.”

Both Justin and Brian boggled at her.

“You’re _not_ serious,” Brian said and then looked at her earnest expression. “Oh my fucking God, you _are_ serious! No. Fucking. Way! Do whatever needs to be done so that there isn’t even a snowball’s chance in hell that this could happen again! And as for you,” he said, fixing Justin with a dick-shrinking glare. “We’re going to have a _very_ long talk about whether your dick gets anywhere even remotely near my ass ever again.”

Justin held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t even _raise_ the topic unless you do.”

“Good,” Brian said as though they’d just completed a business deal. “OW! I am NOT a bag of fucking cement!” he yelled at the technicians who were trying to get him on a stretcher. “Jesus fucking Christ. Here, give me Maeve. She and I’ll bear the indignity of getting poked and prodded together. Justin, bring Helen along as soon as you can. See that face she’s making? That means ‘where’s my fucking dinner’?”

Justin gave him a sunshiny grin. Just before the EMT’s took the stretcher down the stairs, he kissed Brian’s mouth.

“Congratulations, Dad,” he whispered. “The Taylor Kinney Clan is now all present and accounted for.”

“Jesus, I fucking hope so,” Brian whispered back. “It’s about fucking time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're selling our house, and there was a last minute closing crisis over the weekend that has all but engulfed my life. Please don't think your comments have gone unnoticed and unappreciated! It's just that I've been focusing what little time I have on writing (which I'm sure doesn't upset you guys _too_ terribly much) :D


	22. Who's Your "Daddy"?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's feeling left out - the twins are snubbing him in favor of Brian. And as for Brian? He's being a total dick as usual. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
> 
> Btw: Doesn't Queen Maeve kind of look like Brian?

Five days after she entered the world, Brian and Justin walked into the diner for Maeve’s official debut. Everyone gathered around to admire and fawn all over the newest member of the family. Everyone that is except Mel and Linds. Justin noted their absence. He was pretty sure Brian did too.

“If I wasn’t their milk dispenser,” Brian said, “and if Justin here wasn’t their diaper changer, I would feel confident in saying that we are completely superfluous. These two are totally (and literally) gah-gah for each other. God help us if we separate them for too long.”

Deb covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “Jesus, honey,” she said. “Another stunning little baby girl.” She threw her arms around Brian’s neck but carefully so she wouldn’t squash Maeve in her snuggie. “You are fucking _amazing_ , kiddo! Can I hold her? Oh my God, if she wasn’t bigger than Helen, I’d say they could be twins.”

“They _are_ twins, ma” Michael said. He peered apprehensively at Maeve’s rosy little face, but when he realized that, yes, indeed, Maeve was an exact replica of Helen, he relaxed. 

“That’s right, Michael,” Justin said irritably. “Just like Helen, she’s Brian’s mini-me. No need to worry; I haven’t tainted her with my genes.”

Michael scowled. “Like you should be complaining. Brian’s only the most beautiful man in Pittsburgh. Any kid would be lucky to have his genes and yours do.”

“Only in Pittsburgh?” Brian said. “Christ, Mikey, couldn’t you set a higher bar? That’s barely a compliment.”

Deb cackled. “It doesn’t really matter if the girls look like Brian in every way except their eyes,” she said. “The eyes are the window to the soul. They’re the first thing you look at when you meet someone; the twins’ are sky-blue just like their daddy’s. Dark hair and blue eyes – Jesus Christ, these two are going to be knock-outs!”

“Just wait till they’re ‘knocked up,” Ted said.

“My God, Teddy,” Emmett said. “Brian only gave birth – or whatever he did – a week ago. I doubt all those icky hormones have gone away. He might take a swing at you. It’s still not safe to poke the bear.”

“It’s _never_ safe to poke the bear,” Brian said. “But you guys shouldn’t bother being afraid of me; I have officially passed on the title of The Big Bad to Maeve. Justin, you can fill them in on the details. Meanwhile, I’m going to eat some fucking egg whites. No more fried shit for me. I want to reacquaint myself with my dick. I haven’t seen it in months with that damn bump always in the way. Thank God for mirrors.”

“And firsthand accounts from the field,” Justin added, kissing Brian’s cheek.

“No more dawdling,” Deb said. “Tell us the story.”

“Well, basically, the Cliff Notes version is that Maeve should be dead. When Dr. Russell performed the caesarian . . .”

Emmett groaned. “Couldn’t this have waited till I finished my breakfast?”

“No,” Deb said and then turned back to Justin. “Go on, Sunshine.”

“When Dr. Russell performed the caesarian, Maeve was completely crushed, and her umbilical cord had torn. She was blue when the doctor pulled her out. She would’ve died within a few minutes if the doctor hadn’t performed the operation right away. It’s actually kind of freakish that she survived . . .”

“It’s not freakish,” Brian said. “She survived because she’s a fucking _bad-ass_. She pushed back against all my pushing.”

“Bad-ass or not,” Justin said, “she shouldn’t have made it. If Brian hadn’t unilaterally taken it upon himself to name her ‘Maeve,’ I would’ve suggested we call her ‘Marvina’ for ‘miracle.’”

“ _Marvina_?” Brian said with an appalled expression. “The kids at school would call her ‘Marvin.’ Jesus Christ, it’s a good thing I _did_ act unilaterally. I saved her from playground hell. Kids are little primitive shits. Haven’t you read _The Lord of the Flies_? They roast wild pigs and push each other off cliffs.”

Justin sighed. His mother was going to be super pissed off that Brian had once again named a baby with no input from him. He knew she was going to see it as symbolic of their whole relationship. He was dreading the conversation. At least “Maeve” was a beautiful name. If they _had_ discussed it, Brian probably would’ve convinced him anyway.

“So who is ‘Maeve’?” Ted asked.

“She was the mythical queen of Connaught . . .”

“‘Connack?’” Deb said. “Sounds like a brand of cough syrup.”

“Ma!” Michael exclaimed. “Brian wouldn’t name his kid after a cough syrup!”

“God, can you imagine?” Ted said. “Little baby Nyquil . . .”

“Or Robitussin,” Emmett chimed in. “She could be ‘Robby’ for short – very hip and non-gender exclusive.”

Justin glanced at Brian. He looked annoyed.

“It’s a region in Ireland,” he told Deb. 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said and kissed his cheek.

“Can I continue?” Brian snapped. “As I was saying she was the warrior Queen of Connaught. Her pastimes were raiding Ulster and fucking a zillion lovers.”

“WHAT?!” everyone exclaimed all at once, including Justin. This was news to him

“Brian Kinney!” Deb screeched. “You can’t name your daughter after a whore!”

Brian shrugged insouciantly. “Like Helen, one of Maeve’s sources of power was her beauty and sexuality. In Gaelic, ‘Maeve’ means ‘she who intoxicates.’ It’s not like beauty and sex are bad things. We’re just too hung-up as a society to admit it.” 

“Only Brian would name his children after famous sluts,” said Ted. “What will you name your next daughter? ‘Jezebel’?”

“Ha ha,” Brian said. “Not a chance. Jezzie caught religion. My girls are heathen queens, aren’t you, my little temptresses?” He kissed them both on the cheek. “None of all that monogamy and celibacy bullshit. You’re your father’s daughters.”

Great, Justin thought. He really wasn’t more than a sperm donor. He definitely wasn’t going to pass on the history of Maeve’s name to his mom – she’d _really_ freak if she knew Brian had chosen the twins’ names as an echo of his own superficial, hedonistic values.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure if he liked Brian very much. Love, of course . . . but not always like.

“Well, never mind all that,” Deb said, waving her hand dismissively. “Both ‘Helen’ and ‘Maeve’ are gorgeous names.”

“Just keep them away from Wikipedia for as long as you can,” Ted said.

Brian laughed – he actually _laughed_. He almost never let Ted see that he found something Ted said amusing. For some reason, it bugged the shit out of Justin.

Without saying anything to anybody, Justin gave Helen and her snuggie to Deb, left the diner and caught the bus to PIFA. He had fucking classes to go to.

_Founded in 1871, Slade School of Fine Art is one of the world's leading art schools. Based in London, England, it is a department of the University College London (UCL). The Slade currently has around 260 students all housed within its original site and a state of the art research centre and project space in Woburn Square. At the Slade School of Fine Art we approach the practice of contemporary art and the history and theories that inform it in an experimental, research-oriented and imaginative way. An art school with a world leading reputation, the Slade makes a significant contribution to the field of contemporary art both nationally and internationally. The Slade has a lively and dynamic studio-led research culture. All studio staff are practising artists with significant exhibition profiles, actively involved in research as well as teaching._

_As part of UCL, London’s Global University and one of the leading research universities in the world, there are many opportunities for Slade students and staff to develop collaborative projects and interdisciplinary research initiatives both within UCL and beyond._

_We have links to art institutions and organisations nationally and internationally. As well as UCL’s own museum collections (including the UCL Art Museum whose collection includes work by a number of distinguished Slade students), our location in the centre of London and London’s art world, enables easy access to a wide range of unparalleled learning resources including many important galleries, museums, libraries, cultural institutions and theatres._

The brochure he’d requested hadn’t come in an envelope. Justin spotted it the moment he stepped through the door of the loft. He’d been _sure_ it would be in an envelope – in fact, he’d _requested_ an envelope. But nope; there it was sitting on the top of a pile of mail Brian must’ve picked up.

“Brian?” he called anxiously. There was no answer. Where the hell was he? As far as Justin knew, he didn’t leave the loft unless Justin was with him to help with the twins. He looked around for a note and wondered why he was surprised when he didn’t find one. Where could he be? Not the grocery store because they were having their groceries delivered. Not at work; Brian was taking two months off. He opened his phone and called the diner. Deb answered. She’d been there all day and hadn’t seen Brian come in. Could he be at the gym? No way, not yet. Now that he was no longer actually pregnant, Brian was extremely self-conscious about the state of his physique. He was working out but only at home.

Justin took off his coat and threw it over the back of the couch. The loft was eerily quiet. It was strange and kind of creepy – although not _entirely_ unwelcome. The twins were always making some kind of noise. Brian seemed like he was always nursing one or the other of them 24/7, and he’d started watching T.V. out of boredom, so the T.V. was always on all the time. Amazingly, Brian seemed fine with the whole thing. Yes, he got tired and appreciated it when Justin took the twins out so he could sleep, but he wasn’t bitching and snarking. In fact, Brian actually seemed comfortable! Justin had been expecting melt-down after melt-down, but far from melting-down, Brian appeared content to let the babies nurse and squirm and snooze all over him in a big pile of blankets, bibs and drooled-on porn mags. At least Justin _hoped_ it was drool sticking together the pages of _Primitive Instincts_.

It was _so_ weird. And very disconcerting. Justin had set his clocks and compasses according to Brian’s moods; without them he felt lost . . . and oddly unneeded. 

He took the Slade brochure to the chair in front on the T.V. (the couch had turned into Brian’s Baby Den - it appeared that Brian had "nested" after all) and ran his hand over the beautiful cover. He’d requested it because he was curious, that was all. He just wanted to _pretend_ for just a minute that he really was going to accept the scholarship . . .

Well, in fact, he had. The time was running out, and he’d decided to start the process rolling. He’d been _assured_ by everyone involved that if he decided to back out that there were students who’d snap up the opportunity no matter how late the date. He didn’t want any doors closing . . . at least not yet. For just a couple weeks, he wanted to imagine he really was going to London, but that’s _all_ it was – just his imagination. Nothing more. 

He closed his eyes. At Slade, he’d study with world renown artists. Yeah, sure, PFIA was a good school but it wasn’t Slade. It wasn’t even _close_ to being Slade. And he’d be so close to Paris – close enough that he could pop over now and then for a long weekend! God! He could see it, that old cliché, Paris in the springtime. Maybe Brian could join him . . . .

. . . and that’s where the train of his thoughts hit the brick wall of reality. Brian wasn’t going to Paris. Brian was lucky if he could get to the diner these days! Jesus fucking Christ! What was he doing _even pretending_ he could take the scholarship! He had newborn daughters, for fuck sake . . . !

. . . and a partner who refused to let him take care of them. They’d discussed bottle feeding, but every time Justin had tried to actually do it, Brian made some excuse or another (“My tits are too sore for that fucking pump;” “it’ll be quicker and easier if I just let them nurse;” “I’m fucking leaking all over the place here! Just give me the bab(ies)!”). Yes, Justin changed their diapers, but that was hardly quality time. Brian did all the fun things: he gave them baths, he fed them, he lulled them to sleep. The only “fun” thing that Justin got to do was take them outside so Brian could sleep, but the cold and being away from Brian always made them scream bloody murder. Justin would find himself counting the minutes until he could bring them back to the loft and hand them over to Brian Kinney, the Love of Their Little Lives.

 _Stop being jealous_ , Brian said the other night. _They’re babies for Christ sake. It’s not like they’re snubbing you. They’re little sucking-screaming-pooping machines. Get over yourself_.

Justin didn’t reply, but if he had, it would’ve gone something like this:

_You are so full of shit, Brian, and you know it! If they really were no more than “little sucking-screaming-pooping machines,” you wouldn’t be playing with them and talking to them and snuggling with them all the time. You can’t get enough of them! If they were “snubbing” you, you’d have an existential crisis, so don’t put me down because I’m having a little bit of a hard time with the situation, okay, you fucking asshole?_

Jesus fucking Christ! Who would’ve imagined Brian, of all people, turning into the fucking Mother Earth Goddess? It was bizarre. Justin was often tempted to make fun of him, but always stopped himself. Why did he want to hurt Brian when all he was doing was being the parent Justin had claimed he could never be? Christ, it was a fucking mess . . .

. . . suddenly he heard the door close, and it startled the hell out of him. He must’ve fallen asleep. He quickly shoved the brochure from Slade under his ass. He didn’t have time to properly hide it.

“Hey,” he said. “Where were you?”

Brian didn’t answer. He had the twins in their stroller, and they were fast asleep.

Justin’s heart started pounding with uneven, sickening thuds. He’d seen the brochure. How could he have missed it? Time to grab the situation by the horns.

“Brian,” he said. “Don’t be pissed, okay? I’m not going.”

Brian pushed the stroller into the living room and sat down on the couch. His cheeks were just as ruddy as the twins’ from the brisk December wind. He crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap.

Justin felt a surge of dread.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Brian said. “With all the expenses associated with having two children, I’m not sure I can afford to pay your tuition any longer.”

Justin's jaw dropped. “ _Excuse me?_ ” 

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s true,” Brian said. “I’ve been crunching the numbers. I mean there’s that huge house you want me to buy, and Lindsay and Mel want me to pay for a top-notch day care center for Gus. Plus I’ve been thinking about only working part time. I’m just not going to have as much ready cash as I used to.”

Justin boggled at him. “So . . .” he said. “So, you’re telling me I have to drop out of school?”

Brian gave him an I’m-sorry-but-what-can-I-say look and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I certainly hope that it won’t come to that. I mean you could get a better job and pay your way. Or maybe there’s perhaps some kind of scholarship . . .”

Justin leapt up; the sudden movement caused the brochure to fall on the floor.

“You are a fucking ASSHOLE!” he yelled. “You are so full of complete, utter, _fucking_ bullshit!”

Brian stood up just as abruptly. “Keep your Goddamn fucking voice down,” he hissed.

Justin was so frustrated and angry that he actually stomped. “Okay, fine,” he said, “well, then let’s not buy that particular house. I know it’s really expensive. Let’s get a smaller one.”

Brian had sat back down and crossed his legs again. The son of a bitch examined his nails lazily. Justin _hated_ him for a moment.

“I don’t know,” he said airily. “You did an _excellent_ job convincing me it was the perfect home for the twins. Like you said – over and over, I might add – there’s a park right nearby and a K through 6 school within easy walking distance. And I agree that they should have their own bedrooms even if they end up wanting to sleep in the same room together. Every child, even a twin, needs space sometimes. So, that’s three bedrooms, plus ours, which is four. And we, of course, need a spare room, and I want an office, and Gus needs a room so he won’t feel like nothing more than a guest when he visits. Oh, and you were right about that glassed-in sitting room – it would make a _perfect_ studio for you. Remember how you went gah-gah over it? And I really like the renovated basement where the girls can play. I really don’t want kid shit all over the living and dining rooms. Anyway, the point is moot. I just bought it.”

Justin dropped into the chair again. “ _What?_ he said.

“I said I just bought it,” Brian said slowly as though he was talking to a really stupid person. “Lindsay came by the loft and we drove to the house. She loved it too, so I figured ‘why not?’ So we went to the bank where I negotiated an _excellent_ mortgage rate – as long as I put down thirty percent of the asking price, I can get 3.0 Apr. Not bad, wouldn’t you say? I was quite pleased.”

“You were with Lindsay,” Justin said, his voice flat.

“Yes,” Brian replied. “It was nice to be able to spend time with her so she’d have a chance to really meet the twins.”

“You were with Lindsay.”

“I believe that is what I just said.”

“She told you about the scholarship.”

Brian was still looking at his fingernails, but upon hearing Justin’s words, he lifted his eyes and a nasty, mean little smile played at the corner of his mouth.

“Someone had to.”

Justin swallowed.

“Not that I didn’t know _something_ was up. I found that fancy brochure,” he nodded at the Slade brochure where it’d fallen on the floor, “when I picked up the mail this morning. Plus, there’d been an email I received the morning Maeve was born. Lindsay had kindly forwarded me the information about the scholarship. I’ve been waiting all of this time for you to bring it up.”

Justin’s upper lip was sweating; he wiped it dry with the back of his hand.

“I didn’t bring it up,” he said, “because I’m not accepting it.”

Brian arched an eyebrow. “Lindsay told me that you did.”

Justin stood up and started pacing. What a fucking mess!

“It’s just a place-holder. I can still back out of it,” he said. “And I will.”

“I see. And then what? Drop out of school all together because you can’t pay for it? What a waste.”

“I’ll figure something out!” Justin yelled and then hit his forehead with the palm of his hand when one of the twins started to cry – he didn’t know which one and it didn’t matter because once one started to cry, the other did too. 

Brian sighed. “Great,” he said. “Good job, ‘daddy.’” He used the dreaded air quotes. Justin wanted to slap him. Hard. Really _really_ hard.

“Exactly!” he snarled. “Quote/unquote ‘daddy,’ indeed. Jesus! I might as well just go to London. It’s not like you – or they – need me.”

Brian’s nasty little smile turned into a beautifully hideous grin. “Now we’re talking,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming to the end, my friends. I can't say _exactly_ when, but it's on the horizon.


	23. The Glint of Dawn off the Wing of a Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. If it feels heart-wrenchingly familiar, it's because it is.
> 
> There is an epilogue. Unlike the show's writers, I'm not going to leave you guys hanging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All similarities and references to the end of season 5 are deliberate.

The first time he felt like he wanted to shake the babies, Justin knew he wasn’t fit to be a father. When they finally fell asleep after crying for a fucking _eternity_ , he emailed Mr. Hamilton to officially accept the scholarship. 

He was sitting in the dark when Brian came home from an evening of playing pool at Woody’s. It was the first time he’d been away from the twins for longer than an hour, and he was barely in the door before he started stripping off his sweater and t-shirt and pulling off the tape securing the gauze he’d used to cover his nipples. _Just what I need,_ he’d said before going out. _Nothing says “hot” like chapped, leaky tits. Damn babies_. He’d sounded carefree, but in reality, the boys had had to threaten and cajole and finally plead to get him to go out. Even Deb had said it was a good idea to practice being apart from the twins for even just a little while. But it’d been a close call. The twins had been fussy, and Justin had had to pull the phone out of Brian’s hand so he couldn’t call Michael and tell him he couldn’t come.

 _What?_ he’d snapped when Brian had glared at him. _You don’t think I can handle taking care of them for one Goddamn fucking evening?! They’ll probably sleep the entire time anyway. I’m pretty sure I can handle it._

But it turned out he couldn’t. He had homework – actually a final exam – he had to complete for the following day, and the twins had cried and cried and cried. There was nothing he could do to get them to go to sleep. He tried picking them up and walking around, but he could only hold one at a time, and being parted from each other only made them scream harder. How could Brian stand it? But then again, they didn’t cry like that when Brian was with them. How long was this going to go on? How long was he going to have to feel unwanted by his children and unneeded by his partner? Well, not _entirely_ unneeded; Brian still used him for his daily fuck.

As soon as Brian had his chest bare, he went to the babies. One woke and made a sound that Justin had learned to interpret as “Dad. Now. Food. Give Me.” Brian carried her (fuck, which one was she???) into the living room, embedded himself in his nest and started feeding her. Justin wasn’t so enchanted by the nursing anymore. In fact, it was starting to grate on his nerves. Every slurp and coo and burble set his teeth on edge. He was sure it wouldn’t be that way if Brian would let him bottle feed the babies even if only just once in a while. But nope. Brian always refused. Was it a control thing?

Brian picked up the remote and turned on the T.V. “So,” he said. “How’d it go?”

Justin didn’t reply. How could he? _Oh, fine. I only wanted to shake the babies to death once_ , although truthful, was not an option.

“Well? Did they sleep the whole time?”

Justin just stared at the T.V. “I accepted the scholarship,” he said.

Brian didn’t reply. Some fucking reality show was on, and a girl was crying about something or other with mascara streaking her cheeks. If it was _really_ reality, Justin thought distractedly, someone would’ve slapped her and told her to get the fuck over whatever it was she was blubbering about.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” Brian replied.

“Well?”

Brian switched the twin to his other nipple. She fussed for a moment before she latched on again. 

“I don’t know why,” Brian said. “My left tit always dries up quicker than my right.”

Justin sighed. Were they _really_ not going to discuss the scholarship?

“Are you pissed at me?” he asked.

“Why should I be pissed at you?” Brian replied. “You made the right choice. For a while there, I thought you weren’t going to find the balls to do it. You’ve pleasantly surprised me.”

“I pleasantly surprised you.”

“Well, I guess I should qualify my remark; you didn’t ‘surprise’ me because I know you’re not a fucking moron. You merely reminded me why I love you.”

Justin’s jaw dropped. He turned to look at Brian, but he was staring at the T.V. His expression was unreadable. 

It wasn’t that Brian hadn’t said the three magic words before – in fact, he’d said them twice since he’d gotten pregnant – but it was always off-set by an inevitable “but.” Not this time. It was just a frank assertion. No prompting or fanfare or approaching orgasms, just a statement of fact.

“What made you change your mind?” Brian asked, still without looking at him.

Justin took a deep breath. How honest should he be? Brian had just told him that he loved him – Justin didn’t want to jeopardize that in any way. 

“I guess . . . I guess I’ve come to realize that I might not be a . . . a good father.” His voice caught on the last two words as they barely escaped around the lump in his throat.

Brian didn’t say anything right away. Was he thinking what Justin was thinking? How ironic that Justin was saying he wasn’t a good father when all along he’d thought that it was Brian who wouldn’t be? If he was, he didn’t say it.

“You’re young,” was all Brain said.

“Teenagers have kids all the time,” Justin replied.

“Sure. But if they’re smart they put the kid up for adoption or stash it with their parents at least until they grow up – and by ‘growing up’ I don’t mean ‘getting more mature’ or some shit like that. By ‘growing up’ I mean having a fucking life.”

“But ‘having a fucking life’ could mean raising a family.”

Brian laughed. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? That’s bullshit. ‘Having a fucking life’ means doing whatever the hell you want and grabbing as many opportunities by the balls as you possibly can. C’mon, did you honestly think I wouldn’t make your life hell until you did what’s good for you? Appears I didn’t need to; it looks like the little screamers did. Good girls,” he said patting the twin he was feeding (which one???) on the back.

“You are a fucking manipulative asshole,” Justin said. He couldn’t tell if he was mad or grateful. 

“Not as manipulative as Lindsay,” Brian replied. “Holy shit! She reminded me again why I should never forget what a sly, cunning bitch she can be, even if part of the reason she wrangled that scholarship for you was because she wants you out of the way so she can have me all to herself. Problem is she doesn’t have a cock. It’s a big hurdle to clear, especially seeing as the cock she’d try to replace is a fucking ten-inch mouthful.”

Was that a compliment? Or was it an assertion that all he, Justin, was good for was being Brian’s (replaceable) fuck toy? 

“I wasn’t going to go,” he said. “What would you have done if I didn’t?”

Brian shrugged. “Probably push you off a cliff. I was already in the process of building one. When . . . no, scratch that . . . _if_ you come back, you can bottle feed the babies all you want and give them baths and take them out. Do you think I actually like being the sole caregiver? It’s fucking tiring; I’m bored as shit half the time, and my tits are going to fall off.”

“You are a fucking asshole,” Justin said and _meant_ it. “That’s all I’ve wanted – a chance to be a meaningful part of their lives.”

“And give up your life in the process? Screw that. Go to fucking London, Sunshine. Draw or paint or whatever the hell else. Make friends. Go to clubs. Fuck hot guys. And send me a postcard now and then. And if the chance arises to spend the summer in Paris or some other artsy-fartsy city, then snap it up. If I were in your shoes, I certainly would.”

“But I thought you said you don’t like being a sole caretaker? That’s what you’ll be when I leave.”

Brian shrugged and wiped milk off the twin’s (Helen?? Maeve??) chin with his thumb. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do. I didn’t get an abortion because I didn’t want to. I’d stick the kids in a daycare in a nanosecond if I didn’t want to take care of them myself . . .”

“Brian.”

“Yeah?”

“I could’ve killed them tonight. I was so angry and they wouldn’t stop crying and I knew it was because they missed you . . .”

The other twin started to fuss, and Brian went to get her. He came back with both babies.

“Just forget about it,” he said.

“But . . .”

“No ‘but’s. Forget about it.”

Justin looked at him. They held each other’s eyes for a long time.

“When will you leave?” Brian asked after a while.

“Wednesday next week.”

Brian nodded.

“Brian . . .”

“Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”

Justin swallowed and nodded in return.

“I’ll be back,” he said. “And you could come there. We’ll see each other all the time.”

Brian snorted. “You don’t know that, and neither do I. Even the prospect of fucking your sweet ass doesn’t override the horrifying prospect of taking two babies on an overnight, trans-Atlantic flight.”

Tears welled in Justin’s eyes. Brian was refusing to let him make promises – promises that he, Justin, might not be able to keep or maybe ultimately won’t want to. Brian was fortifying his heart. When you’ve set a lover free without an expectation they’ll return, it’ll hurt less when they don’t.

 

On Tuesday evening, they gave the twins to Deb for the night (Brian had _not_ been thrilled about having to use the breast pump for “a million fucking years” in order to insure they had enough milk). When they returned to the loft, they shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice and talked about nothing at all of substance – no babies, no new houses, no tricking, no London, no job, no school. Nothing but random stupid shit that popped into their heads. They laughed a lot and only slowly let themselves become aroused. They kissed and touched each other through their clothes, rubbing and dry humping until they felt like they’d lose their minds.

Brian was beautiful . . . duh. Of course, he was! It was frustrating that the English language didn’t have as many words for “beauty” as the Eskimos have for “snow.” If it did, every one of them would apply to Brian. He’d worn the deep red shirt Justin loved so much, and when Justin unbuttoned it and slipped it off Brian’s shoulders, he realized for the first time that he was going to study painting in London – if for no other reason than to acquire the skills necessary to capture all the colors and subtle hues that made Brian so stunning - from the crushed cranberry of his mouth to the chestnut sheen of his hair, to the pink sex-blush on his cheeks, throat and chest to the blue veins in his wrists and the tops of his feet to the dusky, wine-red of his hard cock and the areolas of his nipples to the changeable hazel of his eyes and the pale circle around his wrist where he wore his bracelet.

“God,” he whispered in Brian’s ear making him shiver. “What am I going to do if I can’t devour you to the last bone in your littlest toe?”

Brian laughed breathlessly. “Should I get out the condiments?”

“No, I want you without ketchup or mustard or even mayonnaise despite the fact I love to put it on everything else.”

Brian kissed him, letting his mouth take them from playful to passionate. Justin pressed the palm of his hand against Brian’s cock where it strained, aching to be touched, against the buttons of his fly, but they moved to the bed before they got undressed.

They fucked face to face, their eyes never leaving each other’s. Justin wrapped his legs around Brian’s waist and relaxed for what Brian promised him would be a “long ride.” Only once before – when they’d fucked for the first time after the bashing – had Brian made love to him. The focus wasn’t on their orgasms until just moments before they hit; instead it was of the sensation of being joined together. Brian rose to his knees and held onto Justin’s calves as he thrust his hips hard, but slow, burying his cock as deep as possible and then gradually pulling back.

Sometime during their love-making, Justin realized that Brian was saying good-bye. He wanted to say something – he wanted to tell Brian he was wrong, to plead with him not to believe the worst case scenario – but not only would it not make a difference, he would cause Brian to withdraw into himself, into the long, quiet corridors of his mind lined with rooms with rusted locks that only required a kick to break – if someone could even find them to begin with. Justin didn’t want that. He wanted Brian to be present – to be there with him – and he knew Brian did too.

In the end, after they both came, Brian buried his face in Justin’s hair and cried silently – or at least that’s what Justin thought. Maybe the grimace on his face as he came was just that. Maybe the wetness on his cheeks was sweat. Maybe his uneven breathing was the aftermath of exertion. He didn’t know, and he knew Brian didn’t want him to ask.

In the morning, Justin left before it was light. There were no more words to exchange with Brian, and he didn’t want to see the twins again. He’d already said his good-byes, kissing their plump cheeks and smelling that sweet baby smell on the tops of their heads. They’d grabbed at his ears and nose and then started fussing when they realized neither appendage was capable of giving them lunch. He’d laughed and handed them to Brian, who was getting adept at carrying them both at the same time.

Brian didn’t move when Justin squirmed out from underneath him, and neither of them said good-bye. Even though Justin knew Brian was awake, he opened and closed the loft door as quietly as possible.

And then that was it. Twenty-four hours later, he awoke to dawn glinting off the wing of a plane and the feeling of wheels touching down on a runway. He wished with all his heart that he didn’t feel relieved, that he didn’t feel free, but he did.

Brian would be proud.

[Epilogue >](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1107720/chapters/2378150)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish it wasn't the case, but I cannot even _imagine_ Brian and Justin being together without Justin leaving (and staying away for a significant while). It's so critical to their relationship in the long run. Not even the twins can change my conviction. Actually, I think the twins make it even _more_ important that Justin leave. As you've all noted at one point or another the Justin in this story is all over the map. Sometimes he's mature beyond his age (as he is in the show), but often he's just what he is - a kid. The human brain doesn't full develop until we're around the age of twenty-five. Justin is nineteen during the entire course of this story. That's _really_ young. And Brian knows that (as does Lindsay even though her honest affection for Justin is tinged with her crazy-making desire for Brian). I know a theme in this story has been Justin running away, but in this final case, he's running _toward_ something (something that isn't Brian Kinney). None of this is to say that Brian won't struggle and sometimes even doubt whether he'd made the right choice when he'd nudged Justin out the door (as I'm sure is the case in canon). And none of this is to say he doesn't get his heart broken (you'll see what I mean). But Brian has also made choices, the main one being a commitment to being the best father he can be. Is he perfect? No. But he sure as hell isn't Jack Kinney. At the end of the day, I feel proud of the boys even taking into consideration their not insignificant blind-spots and short-comings.


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the official end. I hope you guys enjoy it. Looking back, I think I should've made it the final chapter instead of an epilogue, but oh well. I tried not too make it _too_ sappy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the comments on the previous chapter were really interesting: some people loved the end and some people hated it, which I guess is kind of like the show itself, although for me the ending of this story isn't as painful because Brian has the twins, whereas in the show he's left with no one but Michael who literally drags him back to Babylon and back to past. Yes, there's a phoenix- from-the-flame element to it, but for me it's overshadowed by the the inevitable loneliness I see facing Brian in the months or years ahead.
> 
> Anyway, no more sadness. Enjoy the Happy. You guys have earned it!

_Justin Taylor, 21, transferred to the Slade School of Fine Art after studying for a year and a half at the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Arts in the United States. His eight pieces exhibited here represent his final, independent project for which he was awarded a Bachelor’s in Fine Art with Highest Honors. Already adept at traditional charcoal drawing and ink comic book-style animation, Mr. Taylor studied other media at Slade including painting, focusing on acrylics and enamels; digital art, and “found objects” – a form of multimedia art. While full of classical themes and forms, Mr. Taylor’s works challenge viewers to revise their understanding of what is classical and iconic in a modern age of blurred definitions, uneasy juxtapositions and crumbling canon._

_Among his many fine works, Mr. Taylor has been most notable for exploring and challenging gender and sexual stereotypes. As a gay man, Mr. Taylor is particularly interested in “muddying the waters” surrounding manhood and what it means to be a man, gay or straight. These eight mixed-media pieces confront the viewer with the essential, fundamental attributes that have traditionally distinguished manhood from womanhood combined in a single central image of a pregnant man. There is a perfect balance of the masculine and feminine, virility and fecundity and, ultimately, fatherhood and motherhood._

Justin cringed at the description of his pieces in the catalog accompanying the exhibit of recent graduates’ artwork. The writer made him sound so pretentious! He hoped the bar of expectation hadn’t been set too high. The people who’d seen his work thought highly of it, but all he saw when he looked at it were flaws and failures and missed opportunities. But his friends all felt the same way about their own fabulous artwork. Justin supposed he wasn’t the only one who’d been up all night in a state of suspended dread. There could be no downplaying the importance of this exhibit. His future opportunities depended on its success. No pressure, of course.

He’d labored over the eight pieces (yes, pun intended) for months. The first image was of a handsome, dark-haired man wearing a wife-beater and sitting at a dining room table. There’s a glass full of ice cubes and whiskey at his elbow and a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam beside it. The man is smoking a cigarette and staring unseeingly ahead of him. There’s a letter on the table which, judging from the man’s stunned expression, obviously contains unexpected, possibly even bad, news. Even though the man’s face is beautiful, there’s a hardness to it, a stubborn set to his jaw, a touch of a sneer on his lips and disdain etched in the faint creases at the corners of his eyes. One might glean from the image that the man is not a nice person – or maybe just a very difficult one; regardless he didn’t look like a man you wanted to tangle with. The piece was titled “The News.”

The second image showed the same man standing with his back to the viewer in front of a full-length mirror. He is a classical male nude in the style of Michelangelo’s David with sculpted, clearly defined muscles and lean, well-proportioned limbs. Everything about him is quintessentially masculine . . . except for his belly which the viewer can only see in the mirror’s reflection. Even though the man is covering it with his strong, masculine hands, there’s an obvious bump that is unmistakably the result of pregnancy. Just above the bump is a hard, muscled chest and just below the bump is a thick patch of dark pubic hair and a soft, but nonetheless, sizable penis. The piece is simply titled “Sixteen Weeks.”

The third image was set in a bar full of men. Beer bottles and ashtrays balance on the edge of a pool table. Some of the men are shirtless and sport tattoos and piercings, and a couple of breaded men in the background are dressed in full motorcycle leathers. There are several men in the foreground laughing and talking. One of them is the same man from the previous pieces. He’s holding a dart, getting ready to throw it. On the table beside him is a bottle of non-alcoholic beer. He’s wearing black – black jeans and a shimmery black shirt whose fabric catches the light in complicated patterns, but even so, the viewer can make out the swelling of his pregnant belly. The viewer can only see the man’s profile but it’s enough to see that his eyes are narrowed with purpose and intense focus, and there’s a cold quirk to his voluptuous but unsmiling mouth. The piece is titled “Friday Night at Woody’s.”

The fourth image was a close-up profile view of a naked man on his knees gripping his fully erect penis and clearly in the process of anally penetrating another man who is on his forearms and knees. Neither man’s head is visible, and the tip of the thick, dark, vein-lined penis is at the exact center of the image. Penetration is clearly imminent. There’s a handprint on one of the bottom’s (Justin’s) buttocks that was clearly caused by a blow. Though not violent, the image is primal, and its obvious intent is to sexually arouse the viewer. However, after the viewer has sated his gaze on the center of the image, his eyes drift slightly upward before fixating on the taut fullness of a pregnant belly. The piece is titled “The Last Fuck.”

The fifth image was of a man (again, headless) dressed to the nines in a perfectly fitting and obviously expensive “power suit.” The jacket is open in a display of careless confidence. Gold cufflinks catch the light and a Rolex peeks out from under his sleeve. At first glance, the viewer isn’t aware of anything out of the ordinary, but under closer scrutiny, the viewer sees two dark spots on either side of the man’s tie in the location of his nipples. The piece is titled “Leaking Milk.”

The sixth image was a bird’s eye view of a man sitting on a couch watching a pornographic movie. The man’s jeans are pushed down to the middle of his thighs, and the viewer can partially see his fist between his legs. Even though the viewer can’t actually see it, it’s clear that the man is masturbating, and the reason the viewer can’t see the man’s erection or even most of the man’s fist is because his pregnant belly is in the way. The hand which the man isn’t using to pleasure himself rests with obvious tenderness on his belly. The piece is titled “Twins.”

The seventh image was of the beautiful dark-haired man sitting in a traditional “man’s” leather office chair wearing jeans and a leather jacket. There’s a masculine-looking shell bracelet on his wrist and his legs are spread with a kind of aggressiveness that only a certain kind of “manly” man emanates. The leather jacket is open and slipped off the man’s sculpted, powerful shoulders, and he isn’t wearing a shirt. He is holding a teeny, tiny, obviously premature baby in one hand while it nurses. This time the man’s head is visible, but he’s looking down at the newborn, so all the viewer can really see is his dark hair. Even so, you can tell there’s a soft smile on his face. The piece is titled “Too Soon.”

The eighth image is half-profile and half-frontal. The same man is sitting on a couch, his back arched, head thrown back, the sinews in his neck straining. All the viewer can see of his face is his chin and a glimpse of the side of his profile. He’s obviously in agony. His strong hands clutch the couch’s fabric. He’s wearing jeans with his fly open and a white t-shirt that’s scrunched up to reveal his belly. He’s sweating; the cotton of his t-shirt is dark under his arms and his dark hair is clumped and damp. Tears streak his temple. He’s heavily pregnant. The piece is titled “Labor.”

At the very end of the line of images, there’s a single, black and white, close-up photo of a man’s arms holding two identical girl babies against his bare chest. Below it was a plaque that read _For my muses and the loves of my life, Brian, Helen and Maeve. No work of art can capture your beauty and courage_.

 

_I need you to come home as soon as possible – Brian_

Justin blinked at his computer screen. It was one o’clock in the morning, and he was exhausted after the exhibit’s opening gala; maybe he was seeing things. Other than receiving one small package, he had not seen or heard from Brian in over a year.

_I need you to come home as soon as possible._

There were no attachments. Brian never emailed him without attaching photos of the twins – in fact, their photos was _all_ he sent, and there were never any accompanying words. Two identical, dark-haired, blue-eyed, smiley babies. Sometimes Brian would be holding them in his arms or they’d be sitting on his lap, but the photos never showed anything higher than Brian’s shoulders. It was annoying. It was as though Brian were saying “I don’t want you to come home, so I can’t send you a photo of my face because I’m so hot you won’t be able to stay away.”

Fortunately other people had been sending him photos that actually included all of Brian. He looked good – maybe a _little_ older than his years, but not much. Like his daughters, he was always smiling even when it was obvious he hadn’t known that someone was taking his picture. Everyone told him that Brian was doing well and seemed happy. He’d returned to work but only halftime (at his request), and whenever he could, he worked from home. Everyone had expressed surprise that Brain was so content in his caregiver role – especially Justin’s mom who took care of the twins when she could wrangle a free afternoon out of her schedule.

 _They adore Brian; you should see their little faces when he walks through the door_ , she wrote. _They’d be the same with you. Justin, why don’t you come home?_

What no one knew was that he _had_ come home . . . and that was why he couldn’t come back again. Not until he’d earned his degree. Not until he was ready to face Brian again.

 

In the beginning he’d known without a doubt that he made the right choice when he accepted the scholarship. He’d learned more in a semester at Slade than he would’ve learned at PIFA in four years. Everything was exciting – he was being challenged artistically and intellectually and his artwork had become much more interesting. He met some terrific people and even made a few close friends (other than Daphne, it was a first for him). His professors were pleased with his steady progress – so much so that he was offered the opportunity to transfer to Slade for the remainder of his undergraduate studies.

And that’s when he made what he sometimes feared now in hindsight was a bad decision. He told Brian about the offer, declared he wasn't going to accept it, and that was when Brian broke up with him.

He’d returned to Pittsburgh, and they had the fight to end all fights. It was so awful that the twins stayed with Justin’s mother for two days (although she never found out why). Among other things, Justin literally handcuffed himself to a railing in the new house, and Brian was forced to go out and buy wire cutters. They screamed and yelled and broke things – _a lot_ of things. There were threats of custody battles and bodily harm. No obscenity went unsaid, no back went unstabbed, no threat – no matter how hurtful – went unspoken (including Justin’s last desperate threat that he’d tell the police Brian was abusing the twins and Brian’s equally desperate threat to take the twins and flee to a country that wouldn’t extradite him for kidnapping). Tears flowed (on both sides). Insults were thrown. Buttons were pushed. The word “hate” was used so often it lost its meaning. And when Justin ultimately surrendered and returned to London, he fell into a deep depression. The ensuing summer was easily, hands-down the worst time in his life. It made the bashing seem like a picnic in the park by comparison. 

June and July were a blur. He drank too much and took pills he bought on the street. All the places he went blended together in a smeared insomniac streak of color and noise. Paris, Athens, Rome, Dublin, Amsterdam, Prague, even St. Petersburg. He was cutting – something he hadn’t done since the aftermath of the bashing. He got lice at a hostel in Greece and shaved his head. He had his passport and credit card stolen. He fucked without a condom and threw up in countless alleyways. He almost died once and once almost killed someone. Fortunately two of his close friends tracked him down. They took care of him and forced him now and then to see glimpses of beauty until, by the end of August, the glimpses turned into sustainable experiences. It’d been regaining the ability to see beauty again that he later credited with saving his life. That fall, he completed a series of multimedia works documenting what he’d gone through. There was so much emotion – exuberance and leaden grief, hope and despair, ecstasy and hatred – that the professor of the class for which they were created cried when she first saw them.

That fall, he decided to shake up as many elements in his life as possible and see what happened. He reestablished contact with his mother who he’d stopped calling when he left Pittsburgh because getting news about Brian and the twins was far worse than getting none. He even, with great effort, connected (albeit it tentatively) with his father who actually visited for a weekend and turned a blind eye on Justin’s living arrangement with four guys all of whom he was casually fucking. They did all the London touristy stuff and carefully avoided all meaningful discussion. It hadn’t been a magical reunion, but Justin was glad it’d occurred even if the only result was a mundane email correspondence. Justin had hated his father, and he was glad he no longer had to . . . it left him with more hatred to spend on Brian.

And the thing he hated most of all? Brian was paying his tuition and (even though she swore it wasn’t true) giving his mom money to send to him. He’d returned the first check he got from her saying he didn’t want Brian’s “fucking charity,” but she’d cried and begged him to take it – not for Brian, but for _her_ so she didn’t have to spend her days and nights worrying about him.

By the time he graduated, Justin had found a space within his core where he could go to protect himself, and from its safety, he was able to start caring again. He’d learned what it was like to bump into his monsters in the darkness of the darkest night and not run away. He’d learned how to let art absorb the volcanic emotions and thoughts he couldn’t safely secure in his heart. He remembered why he’d so longed to be a father and, after a long struggle, forgave himself for falling so far short of his naïve intentions. He’d discovered that he needn’t say out loud everything he thought and felt and that sometimes more can be said through silence than speech – but, at the same time, he realized that some things _had_ to be spoken no matter the consequences, and it was after that realization that Justin wrote his first letter to Brian. It was short, but over time, they gradually grew longer.

_Brian,_  
 _Stop believing that everything you think is true. Sometimes it is, but most of the time it isn’t. Especially when it comes to me . . . and us._  
 _Justin_

_Brian,_  
 _I don’t hate you anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did, but I know I hated how you made me feel sometimes. You’re like a wounded animal gnashing at the hands that would help you if you’d let them. I got tired of bleeding because of_ your _wounds._  
 _Justin_

_Brian,_  
 _You can keep me out of your life if you need to (or want to), but you can’t keep me out of the twins’ lives. Everyone’s told me what a wonderful father you are, but you’re only one person. Someday, you’re going to need a partner. I hope when you realize that, that you’ll consider me for the job._  
 _Justin_

_Brian_ ,  
 _I know you’re reading these letters. You may be able to delete my emails, but I know you, and I know you’re incapable of not opening an envelope that’s addressed to you. I’d like you to write back, but if you don’t, I’m okay with it. I don’t need your stamp of approval before I can think any given thought or feel any particular emotion. I have seen and done as much as you have – and maybe more. We’re equals now. I will never tolerate your shit again. If we’re able to get back together, you’re not going to win every argument – or perhaps even half of them. I’m the monster you created, and, like Dr. Frankenstein’s, I’ve grown stronger than you. I could crush you. It’s not a threat; it’s the truth._

_You’re smiling right now. You’re getting hard. Maybe you’re even touching yourself. When you come, think of me if you weren’t already – because something tells me you already do think of me . . . and that you’ve never stopped._

_If I’m right, give me a sign. If I’m wrong, return my next letter unopened, and I’ll never write to you again._  
 _Justin_

Four days later a package arrived. When Justin opened it, he gasped. Whatever he’d expected, _this_ definitely wasn’t one of them, but there it was. A collar.

It was made from the softest leather he’d ever felt and was lined on the inside with a thin layer of black cushioned silk. It was about an inch wide and was secured by a silver buckle, which, in turn was secured by small lock, the key for which was in a black silk bag with drawstrings pulled tight. To Justin’s surprise, the leather wasn’t black – instead it was the color of rich, dark caramel. There was nothing tawdry or obviously “deviant” about it, and there could be no doubt that it was handcrafted. Along with the key, Justin found in the bag a handwritten note on a piece of paper no larger than the fortune in a fortune cookie:

 _Catch me if you can_ was all it said.

Justin had grinned his first Sunshiny grin in years. He had to stay in London until the end of the exhibit of the graduating class’s artwork, but that was only another two months. After jerking off, he went on line and booked the earliest flight home he could find.

And then the email arrived a month before his departure date.

 _I need you to come home as soon as possible_.

The words made Justin’s heart stutter with the kind of nausea-inducing fear that he hadn’t felt in a long time. There were only a small handful of reasons why Brian would “need” him to come home, and none of them were good. It was only six o’clock in Pittsburgh. Justin opened his phone and, for the first time in forever, dialed Brian’s number. He was sure Brian wouldn’t answer, but he did and after only the second ring. Justin didn’t even get a greeting out of his mouth before Brian spoke.

“I have cancer,” he said matter-of-factly.

And just like that, the bottom fell out of Justin’s world.

 

To Justin’s complete surprise, Brian met him at the airport. He’d been expecting his mother, but there he was. Brian Kinney. They froze and stared at each other for a second, but then Justin dropped his bags and ran to him. He wasn’t going to give Brian a chance to be standoffish; if Brian didn’t open his arms then Justin was just going to collide with him and knock him over. But Brian did open his arms, even well before Justin reached him. They grabbed onto each other. Justin threw his arms around Brian’s neck; one of Brian’s arms went around his back and the hand of his other disappeared in Justin’s hair, holding Justin’s head tight against his shoulder. Justin could feel him shaking. They didn’t let go for a long time.

“Hey,” Brian said huskily and loosened his embrace just enough so that Justin could step back and look up into his eyes. They, like the rest of Brian’s face, looked tired – not haggard but almost. 

“Hey,” Justin replied, his voice just as husky.

“How was your flight?”

Justin shrugged. “It was okay. I took a Dramamine, so I was able to get some sleep. Where are the girls?”

“They’re with your mom.”

Justin took a deep breath. “Does she know?”

Brian shook his head. “No one knows. Just you and my doctors.”

Justin stood on his toes and kissed Brian’s mouth, pressing their lips together long enough for their eyes to close and their bodies to relax against each other.

It was so strange. The last time they’d seen each other was when Justin, his voice venomous, had told Brian to go fuck himself before he got in the cab that was to take him to the airport. He’d known what hate tasted like in that moment. They hadn’t seen each other since, let alone spoken. But a lot of time had passed in the meantime – a lot of experiences had impacted them both for better or for worse. They were not the same people they had been.

“I don’t want to fight old battles,” he said when he ended the kiss.

“I don’t either,” Brian replied. “I have neither the inclination nor the time.”

Justin swallowed. “What kind?”

“Testicular. An oncology specialist blew me at the baths. While he was playing with my balls, he said he noticed a lump. After I came, he told me to get it checked out, which I did as soon as possible. Sure enough, it was a malignant tumor.”

Justin swallowed again and nodded. He didn’t like learning that Brian was tricking, although he wasn’t surprised. But in this particular case, he wanted to send the trick a dozen roses and thank him with all his heart.

“How far along is it?”

“Far enough.”

“So what’s going to happen?”

“First they’ll removed the ball and replace it with a fake one, and then I’ll undergo radiation treatment.”

“How long will that last?”

“As long as it needs to.”

“Are they . . . have they given you . . . ?”

“It depends on the nature of the tumor and whether the cancer has spread, but assuming the best case scenario, my chances of recovering are very good.”

“And the absolute worst case scenario?”

“Seventy-four percent.”

Justin felt a rush of relief so profound that he had to grab Brian’s arm or risk collapsing. “ _Thank God_ , he said in a rush of breath.

Brian just looked at him.

“I’m glad you’re relieved,” he said, not sounding particularly glad at all.

Justin frowned. “You’re not?”

“Every fucking night I dream that I’m dying,” he said without looking away from Justin’s eyes. “I _can’t_ die. It’s not an option. The girls . . .” 

“You’re not going to die,” Justin said flatly.

Brian nodded. “But I _am_ going to be sick – really _really_ sick for a while. I won’t . . .” He paused and cleared his throat. “I won’t be able to take care of the girls. I . . . I need . . . I need help, Justin.”

“That’s why you asked me to come back,” Justin said fiercely, grabbing Brian’s shoulders and giving him a little emphatic shake. “And that’s why I’m here, but frankly, Brian? I was going to be here anyway. I couldn’t stand being away from you and the girls another fucking _day_. God, I’ve missed you so much!”

“Yeah,” Brian said after a moment. “I’ve missed you too. I really have.” He let Justin pull his head down so their foreheads touched. “We all have,” he whispered.

 

Justin’s mom met them on the front steps of her condo holding the hands of two identical blue-eyed beauties with straight, dark brown, shoulder-length hair. Yes, Justin had been sent countless photos, but nothing prepared him for seeing them in real life. Just as he’d predicted, they looked exactly like Brian, which Justin rightly or wrongly attributed to the fact that Brian had carried them. They were wearing t-shirts with sparkly glue words on them; one said “I’m Maeve” and the other said “I’m Helen.” For the second time that day, Justin dropped his bags on the ground and ran to them. They were shy when he first knelt down in front of them and hid behind their grandmother’s legs, but when they saw Brian kneel down beside Justin and kiss his cheek, they slowly emerged, clearly more curious than apprehensive.

“This is your other daddy,” Brian said. “He’s come home forever.”

The twins squinted up at him and pointed. “Yellow hair,” Maeve said. She turned to Helen, who merely said “yellow forever daddy.”

Justin laughed. “I got you guys something in London,” he said. He stood up and retrieved a plastic bag from his heap of luggage. “Actually, I got you a couple things,” he said, kneeling down in front of them again. “First I got you these.” He pulled out two English bulldog stuffed toys wearing t-shirts that read _Never Mind the Bollocks Here’s the Sex Pistols_.

“Justin,” his mom said disapprovingly, but Brian cracked up. 

“I owned that album. ‘Oh we're so pretty, Oh so pretty, We're pretty vacant,’” he sang badly. “And, yes, that’s how Sex Pistols really sounded – it’s not that I can’t carry tune.” He laughed again. God, it was _so good_ to hear him laugh!

The girls each accepted their plush toy, and then the first thing that did was show them to each other.

“They’re making sure they’re 100 percent identical,” Brian said. “We’ve discovered that they don’t want different things or even colors. Everything has to be the same.”

Once the girls had made sure the toys were acceptable, they swapped them.

Justin covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh my God,” he said. “They’re so adorable!”

“They’re so _weird_ ,” Brian replied.

“Adorably weird,” Justin’s mom said and then knelt down. “Do you want to show Nana your puppy dogs?”

The girls clutched their toys to their chests and shook their heads. Justin laughed again. Helen pointed at him. “Forever daddy,” she said with a child’s serious voice and expression. His eyes filled with tears. When he looked up at his mom, she saw that hers had too. He cleared his throat.

“Okay, let’s see,” he said. “I may have something else in here.” He looked into the bag. “Ah, yes! Here we go.”

He pulled out two boxes containing classic London stuff – a toy taxi, a double-decker bus, a phone booth and a “lorry” with moving doors and “fresh crumpets!” written on the side.

“Any detachable parts?” his mom asked. “They’re still putting everything they find in their mouths . . . Brian . . .”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Brian said holding up his hands. Justin’s mom gave him a playful finger wag.

“Nope, everything’s approved for one year and up,” he said and then looked at Brian with a guilty expression. “Sorry about the plastic.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. The no-plastic thing lasted a grand total of three months. I’ve surrendered to the reality that my home will be littered with plastic crap for the foreseeable future. Although the big, innocent eye ban is still in effect and strictly enforced.”

“What about pink?” Justin asked. “Have you managed to keep the princess obsession at bay?”

Brian sighed a long, weary sigh. “Sadly no, and do you know who’s at fault?”

“Let me guess . . . Aunty Em?”

Brian shook his head. “Not a bad guess, but the answer is unexpected. It’s Gus. Gus has been a princess since April. I’m finding it surprisingly hard to handle . . .”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Brian,” Justin’s mom said. “You should be proud that your son isn’t straitjacketed by gender stereotypes.”

Brian made a face that Justin well recognized. It made him grin. “Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m immune – or even necessarily opposed – to cultural expectations,” he said. “By son is a _boy_ , and boys should look like boys – unless they’re drag queens, of course.”

Justin’s mom shook her head and turned to Justin. “I think it’s adorable,” she said. “And what makes it even more adorable is the fact that Gus spends all his time chasing after little girls in their own princess costumes and trying to kiss them.”

Justin laughed. “It’s a brilliant strategy,” he said. “It’s like a duck blind. He’s discovered that camouflage lets you infiltrate the desired demographic group. I bet he catches more girls dressed as a princess than he would if he wore sneakers and overalls.” 

“God,” Brian said. “My kid’s going to end up being a straight fag. It’ll be so confusing.”

The three of them watched the twins go through their present-receiving ritual; first they examined their own boxes, and then examined each other’s, and then swapped them. They then talked to each other at length in what sounded like Dutch spoken by Daffy Duck.

“Well?” Justin whispered. “Do you think they like their presents?”

“Hey, kiddos,” Brian said. “What do we say when people give us nice things?”

“Thank you,” they chirped and then turned to Justin.

“Thank you, daddy,” Helen said, and then turned to Maeve and nodded.

“Thank you, daddy,” Maeve said.

He reached for them for a hug; they were still too shy to go to him and hid between his mother’s legs again, but they were laughing and playing peek-a-boo.

“It’s so interesting,” his mom whispered. “Helen has taken on a hint of a ‘big sister’ role with Maeve.”

“Maybe they’ve figured out they’re not the same age,” Justin said.

“Or maybe they’re just weird,” Brian replied. “C’mon, bumblebees, let’s get something to eat.” When he reached them, they held up their arms, and he bent over and picked them both up at the same time.

“Won’t be able to do _that_ much longer,” Justin’s mother said with a teasing smile.

Justin caught Brian’s eyes and saw a glimpse of pain in them.

“That’s not what she means,” he whispered against Brain’s mouth after they kissed.

“I know,” Brian whispered back. “But it’s all I can think about . . .”

“Ssshhhh,” Justin said. He cupped Brian’s face in his hands and kissed him again. It was still soft, but not quite as soft as the last one had been.

They stayed for dinner, and Justin was given the dubious honor of feeding the twins in their highchairs. It took an _eternity._ Clearly, food was just a really messy toy.

“Ah yes,” Brian said as he cleaned their faces and hands with a damp cloth. “My dainty, little darlings are total Mikey-style pigs. Mikey used to eat like that when I first met him. It was horrifying. That’s how I learned that shame is a highly effective method of manipulation. Sadly, our daughters are, as of yet, impervious to shame or anything requiring contrition.” 

“Daddy, daddy!” they yelled. “Play leaf!”

“‘Play leaf’?” Justin said.

Brian winked at him. “Just watch, you’ll see.”

Justin watched with immense amusement as Brian picked up one of the girls and swung her in the air as though his arms where a swing.

“It’s autumn,” he said, “and the trees are shedding their leaves. Here comes a wind . . . whoosh! And the littlest leaf is tugged off its twig and starts floating downward.” He held his daughter and slowly wafted her down before dumping her on the squishy couch.

“Now me!” the other shrieked. “I want to be a leaf!”

Brian did the same thing for her and then turned to Justin after dropping her on the couch. “Taking notes?” he asked. “It won’t be long until they figure out that you make a perfectly good tree yourself.”

Justin laughed. Had he really missed all of this? Had he really been away for almost two years? Had he been insane? Watching Brian with the girls made Justin fall in love with him again – only this time even deeper. The three of them were beautiful together.

He was home. He was _finally_ home.

 

He and Brian had planned things so that they could spend a week together before Brian went to Johns Hopkins for his operation. They did everything possible to make things feel normal for the girls so they could get used to Justin’s presence in their lives. The week was also necessary because Justin had a shitload of stuff to learn. Brian laughed as he scribbled yet another note on the pad he carried wherever they went, but he needed to write everything down. There were a million and one little things that Brian and the twins had figured out over a span of almost two years that Justin had to memorize in seven days! At times, it felt like an impossible task, and he’d get scared. What if he couldn’t do this? What if the twins didn’t feel comfortable with him? What if he fucked up?

“It’s not ‘if,’ it’s ‘when’ and ‘how badly,’” Brian said the night before the operation. “You _will_ fuck up. You have no idea how many times I have – and still do. The main thing is to never let them forget for even an instant that you love them and that they are safe. You could be trying to put out a grease fire and change a diaper while the other one drinks dish detergent, but as long as you’re smiling and making eye contact, they’ll be fine. I’ve noticed how much they like your smile. Maeve even called you ‘sunshine daddy’ when we got home from Deb’s place the other day. And once one says something, the other will start saying it too. It’s like living with a constant, giggly echo.”

They were lying in bed. The first few nights, Justin had slept in the spare room and joined Brian in the mornings when the girls woke up so they could see that he’d eventually be sleeping in “daddy’s big bed.” Once it was clear the girls were taking things in stride, he and Brian started spending the whole night together. There’d been _a lot_ of touching and kissing, but nothing overtly sexual had occurred between them. Justin wasn’t sure why. Was it due to the twins? Was Brian not sure he wanted their relationship to be sexual? Was he worried that Justin wouldn’t want to be fucked by a guy with a tumor in one of his balls?

He decided to grab the bull by the horns.

“Are we going to fuck or do you want to wait until the operation and treatment are over?”

They’d been kissing lazily, and Justin was on the edge of going crazy with lust. He took Brian’s hand and placed his palm against his cock. Brian moaned raggedly in response, but when Justin reached for his cock, he moved away.

“Brian? What’s . . . ?”

Brian rolled onto his back and covered his face with his hands. Justin placed his hand, fingers splayed wide, on Brian’s chest. They stayed like that for a long time. Finally Brain spoke; his voice was so low, it was almost inaudible.

“I haven’t fucked anyone since we fucked the night before you left for London the first time.”

Justin couldn’t stifle his gasp of surprise.

“I don’t mean I haven’t being tricking,” Brian continued. “It’s just I haven’t fucked anyone’s ass. I haven’t wanted to . . . and I’m not sure I do now.”

Justin kissed his shoulder. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said . . . and meant it. Just being with Brian and the girls was more than enough to make him happy – even if they never became lovers again, he’d consider his life blessed . . .

. . . not that he didn’t want Brian to fuck him. In fact, there was nothing he wanted more. Brian’s body wasn’t only back in pre-pregnancy shape, but even better. He’d taken up running outdoors, and the unevenness of the ground and varying stride-lengths had turned his legs from those of a hot guy into those of a hot guy who runs marathons. He’d also started playing racquetball with Ben and Ted. Yes, Brian also still did regular work-outs at the gym, but there was something about adding actual sports to his fitness regime that made him stronger and more agile. He seemed more at home in his body than he ever had, which was saying something!

And it also explained in part Brian’s obvious grief surrounding the cancer. His body had betrayed him – and not just any part of his body, but one of his testicles. Justin would understand if sex was the farthest thing from Brian’s mind at the moment.

“It’s not that I don’t want to have sex,” Brian said eventually. “It’s that . . . fuck. Justin, are we together?”

Justin frowned. “Together?” What a weird word to come out of Brian’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Brian said with a hint of embarrassed irritation. “Are we together? Are we partners? Are we a . . .”

“A couple?”

“Yeah. A couple. Although please do not say that word again in my presence. It’s Mikey’s new favorite word, and it makes me want to strangle him. He’s being all Mr. Married Man these days. It’s getting really old.” He paused and took a deep breath. “So, what do you say? Are we? Or have the bridges finally been burned?”

Justin wanted to slap him. _Of course_ , they were a couple! Why did this always have to be so fucking complicated?

“We are if you want us to be,” he said.

“Do you want us to be?” Brian asked in return.

Justin laughed. “I feel like we’re junior high schoolers asking each other if we want to dance. Fuck, yes, I want us to be a couple! Have you been waiting to fuck me until I said that actual word, because if you have, it is so fucking sweet . . .”

It couldn’t have worked better if he’d planned it: Brian rolled on top of him and covered his mouth with his own all the while mumbling “shut up, you silly twat.” From there, memory and nature took over.

“I’m gonna come,” Brian gasped before long. “Where do you want it?”

Justin thought for a moment. What would be the most symbolic? Did he want Brian to come on his face and claim him? Did he want Brian to fill a condom in his ass?

“My mouth,” Justin said breathlessly.

Brian froze in the midst of fucking him just like Justin knew he would.

“You don’t want my come in your mouth,” Brian said, ruthlessly blunt. “It’s diseased.”

“It is _not_ diseased,” Justin replied. “You asked me where I wanted you to come, well I want you to come in my mouth. I’ve missed the taste of you like crazy.”

“I know you’re being all artsy-fartsy about this,” Brian said. “Like it’s a symbol . . .”

“And so what if it is? So what if I want it to be a symbol of wanting you – of wanting _all_ of you and everything about you? Brian, this is the last time you’ll come with that ball. I want to feel it move with each contraction of your orgasm. I want to hold it. It’s been a part of you since you were born – I want to say good-bye . . . and I think you do too. Hate the cancer, hate the tumor, but don’t hate your body.”

“Christ,” Brian chuckled. “No wonder I can’t understand your fucking thesis paper. The next thing I know, you’ll be quoting Foucault or some other French brain-guy.”

Justin laughed. “Alright, three things: (1) I _did_ quote Foucault; (2) French brain-guy? I shall say no more, and (3) you read my thesis paper??”

Brian laughed and kissed him. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he said, his voice husky with laughter and lust. “I think you’re fucking brilliant; I think your art is exquisite and your thinky-thoughts are inspiring.” He propped himself up on his pillows and spread his long, gorgeous legs. “Now,” he growled. “Suck my aching cock, Sunshine.”

 

Justin drove Brian to the airport the next morning and then picked him up again two days later. Both times Brian was solemn and quiet. The girls had been fine with his absence, but they melted-down when he came home. They obviously knew something was wrong. Brian smiled and kissed them, but they weren’t fooled. They clung to him and cried.

“Remember what daddy and I told you?” Brian said. “I’m going to have a tummy ache for a while and will need to sleep a lot, but I’m fine. Okay? We just can’t play as rough as we usually do.”

They didn’t believe him, but they also didn’t understand why. Over the course of the following weeks, they spent a lot of time playing quietly on Brian and Justin’s bed and “reading” him stories. Justin watched them. He’d never thought he could love so deeply . . . or so well. The art he created during the months of Brian’s treatment and recovery was simple but heartfelt – he thought of it as a “back to the basics” time. A fresh start.

Which was not to say it was easy. Brian was nauseous almost all the time and very weak. When the girls were asleep or with their grandmothers, he talked pessimistically about the future and mourned an idealized past that had never actually existed. Justin just lay beside him on the bed or sat near him on the couch and let him talk. Much of what he said defied basic reason, but it didn’t matter. You feel what you feel. Plus, any time that Brian spent talking was better than all the years he’d been silent. When Brian finally recovered, Justin felt for the very first time that he knew him.

 

On the anniversary of the day Brian had conceived the girls, Brian and Justin got married. Not because they wanted to be married (an institution Brian still scorned), but because their daughters wanted them to be.

“I figured what the hell if it makes them happy,” Brian told Michael, who, ever since becoming a father himself, had become slightly less intolerable. At least in Justin’s life. Apparently, Michael was now driving Mel insane by constantly questioning (and subsequently) undermining her parenting decisions. 

“His capacity for hovering knows no bounds,” Justin told Mel who gave him an expression suggesting that she’d already figured that out, fuck you very much.

Brian had little sympathy. “She’s the one who let him fuck her with a turkey baster,” he said. “It’s too late in the game to call a fowl.”

The wedding was held in the lodge at Sugarbush Mountain. It was “fucking cold as fuck,” according to Brian who claimed he was freezing his ball off. The girls had no idea what he was talking about, but they jumped around shrieking and laughing because everyone else was. As favors, they handed out ski tickets and heavy duty, industrial-strength condoms, which, appallingly, Emmett used to make balloon animals much to the twins delight. 

Deb spent the day wallowing in babies, happy as a pig in shit; Ted had brought Blake who’d spent the day trying to teach Ted to ski; they both looked ready to keel over with exhaustion during the ceremony. Michael gave a long, rambling tearful toast that Brian eventually pulled the plug on (literally), and Lindsay cornered Justin for a ridiculously long time to discuss an exhibit of his work she’d like to put on at the gallery, Justin was pleased although he had to tell her firmly (and to her disappointment) that the exhibit couldn’t contain the “Pregnancy” pieces. Brian didn’t hate them, but he definitely didn’t want “all of fucking Pittsburgh looking at his leaky tits.” 

Gus was still a princess, and he came to the wedding dressed as the Snow Queen from the Narnia series. Justin laughed at Brian’s sour expression when he walked through the door. Brian was even less pleased with the situation when the twins tried to mimic their idolized half-brother by covering themselves with garlands of toilet paper. 

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered in Justin’s ear. “Just think, four years ago you shoved your cock in my ass and look what happened.” He gestured at the twins who were dancing on a table, draped in toilet paper and singing “Toot Toot, Chuga, Chuga, Red Car” at the top of their lungs.

Justin grinned a big sunshiny grin. “How about tonight you let me shove my cock up your ass again for old times’ sake?” When Brian's gaze went hazy with lust, Justin’s grin turned into a tiger purr as he stuck a finger in the open collar of Brian’s wine-red shirt and hooked it through the well-worn collar underneath.

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A final word of thanks to all the people who took the time to comment. I really appreciate it. Feedback is SO important when writing an epic WIP. Speaking of which, I will be returning to my other WIPs. I want to finish "Finding Home" first because it's so close to being done, and then I'll work on "Letting Go" and "The Tao of Tricking" at the same time.
> 
> Thank you again, everyone :)


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